Manifest Destiny
by Bekah26
Summary: Ianto Jones knows everything, including the fact that there are certainties in his life. Lineage is only a part of that. UPDATED!
1. the past

Title: Manifest Destiny

Author: Bekah

Fandom: Torchwood/Doctor Who

Pairing: Ianto/Lisa, Ianto/Jack

Rating: Teen for now

Warnings: in later chapters may contain adult situations and violence/ spoilers for all seaons of 'Who and Torchwood

Disclaimer: they're not mine, I'm getting nothing from this but fun

sorry about the editing: my little stars have vanished

* * *

Ianto knows everything; this isn't a boast, it is fact.

He prides himself on this, on the power and conception of his memory, and is ever ready with a word or a thought or a coffee.

His knowledge is only seconded by his intuition.

This is why he keeps a diary, why he needs to write the events and thoughts he experiences, for there are times when one threatens to overtake the other; when wisdom has overtaken life.

In a box hidden in his closet, buried where no one (not Lisa, not Jack) has ever been, he has laid the ones that came before.

Every so often he opens one and looks in at his life, reacquainting himself with himself, on the days when he is merely the servant of Torchwood.

This is what he finds.

This is what he knows.

At first there is only sun and fields, wide open spaces and a secluded little house. There is mother, who is radiant and aloof and oh so loving. Her voice, while holding crisp words, speaks to him in only soft tones and she tells him of adventures and journeys and all the things that make up the universe. She is all he knows at first, but that is fine. She is love and he is happy.

Time passes and a man comes, dressed in darkness and burning with strange vibrant ideas, but his hands are gentle. His mother is uneasy though she doesn't show it, but the man is welcomed all the same. She leaves them alone in the field and the man tells him of more wondrous things, planets and species and escapes and time. He pays attention to the language of time that the man spins around him and his breath catches, swept away in its pulse, and is left longing in the aftermath. When his mother sees that the man means him no harm, she welcomes him into their house, and for awhile, the man stays.

The man is called father.

Mother gives him compassion and love and loyalty. Father gives him wit and cunning and intelligence. With warm eyes she speaks to him of what can be learned and what can be changed, and the things that shouldn't. With burning eyes his father tells him of the things that can be undone, and the things that can be controlled, and of the things that will be his to know. His mother gives him books and laughter and touch. His father gives him time and fierceness and style.

Every choice is yours to make, she says.

Time is yours to take, he says.

His mother gives him a useful tool that is vibrant and opens possibilities; a relic from travels past, she calls it. His father looks strange when he sees it but says nothing, until later; his father hands him a stopwatch, and it burns strangely in his grip, and his father calls it a relic from the future. His parents regard each other in silences and distances, and he feels that it is only him that makes them a family. And yet, a family they are.

This lasts for as long as it can, mother is constant, and though father always leaves, he always returns. This is fact. This is certainty.

Time splinters when the others come and tear him away from his house, from his fields, and from his mother.

Father isn't there.

They are men is bright and violent robes, and their hands hurt as they hold him away from what he loves. He is afraid and he is alone, and when they speak to him he feels as if he is being torn asunder.

He soon understands that it is not him that they want, but his mother. And his father. There is war coming and his parents are needed to fight. His mother is brutal in her words, spite and anger fly through the air towards the men, words like blades flung with skill.

"You would use my son against me? Would _he_ still help you if he knew what you intend?"

It hadn't mattered; they had taken him. The men say that it is for his protection, but he knows better: he is ransom for his parents, for their cooperation, and he is a prisoner in exile. He can feel her in him, pushing knowledge at him, and he buries it, hiding it away, wrapped in layers of her love; she is desperate but honourable, and he knows that while she will do what they demand, she will always be searching for a way to return to him.

And deeper, in a secreted place that not even his mother is aware of, he hears his father rage against this, and the vow that he will find his son rings out above all other thoughts.

It echoes like a drum beat in him whenever he rests, and with all the need of a child, he reaches towards it always.

The day it goes silent is the day Ianto remembers with a clarity that will never fade.

It is the day he came to earth.

He was young, older then he looked, but still a child. The men were right about the war, and when it came, he used the knowledge his mother had pushed upon him and escaped, opening a rift that navigated E-space and followed the road that the Rift paved through time and space, the watch his father gave him clutched in his hand. He arrived, alive and small and shivering, and had lain in the street for hours before he was found. He could hear voices around him, burying him in questions and intentions, and though the hands were more gentle then the others, he was still bundled like linen and carried away.

This is the time that he will never be sure of, that he will never recall. From recovered reports he now knows that he was nearly comatose when found, and that the doctors had called it shock and malnutrition and that he endured all sorts of trauma. The special doctors had been stated as saying that he was in a form of psychic stasis resulting from a massive mental shock. Which, from what he knows now, was fairly accurate; after all, his race had just been destroyed. His mother no longer called for him in his mind, and the beat of father was still.

The watch sat in his hands, silent.

When he came to himself he found himself in a private hospital where, upon awakening, he was treated to the best and most attentive of care. He had a room to himself and while there was no one there his age, he was never alone. And though he was treated well, it was obvious that he had merely traded one prison for another.

This is how he came to know Torchwood.

While he may share his knowledge freely, Ianto hoards his secrets. There are things Torchwood never knew, even though he had been theirs for most of his life.

And he is more his father at times, then his mother.

These are the things he learned at Torchwood.

The ordinary are often overlooked, so he makes an effort to be as ordinary as possible.

He finds it easy to slip under their radar, as he has been in the tower so long that he is an accepted mascot for them to parade around; the unique and interesting boy that came through the rift. He gives them his time and his words and his servitude. He gives them hot coffee and frozen smiles.

He doesn't give them his wisdom and knowledge and insight. When he sees an artefact that he knows, he turns the other way, he takes it; he flocks to the young ones, the ones that haven't heard of him, and cultivates their image of him. He waits until the upper level staff has been distracted with the anomalous energy, and then enters the system to change his records. When Yvonne Hartman takes control, under the direction of the upcoming minister of defence, he is merely another low level staff member. An archivist. An administrative assistant.

He waits and watches and hides in plain sight.

There is only one person who knows that he is more.

This is how he meets Lisa.

He is regarded as Torchwood One's more precious, and precocious, secret. He knows that he is more different then Torchwood knows, or thinks they know. They watch him and use him, but they never see the oddness of his blood or hear the double rhythm of his hearts. They marvel at his mind, but never look further to see the potential he buries.

He meets her while he is making coffee, and she comes up behind him to watch him put the grounds in the machine. Her presence at first is like most of the people who work at the Tower, a noise to be filtered, but still catalogued. It is only when she speaks that she enters into his world, that he truly sees her, and (in looking back) he is never sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

She says: "I wondered why your coffee is the best; you measure the amounts of bean, grain, and water to mathematical perfection. How do you get the ratio right?"

Out of everyone, she saw him. He had been called OCD, anal, compulsive, and Lisa merely brushed the words aside. Months later she would admit that she had read his file, his real file, and he was awed that she still accepted him as he was. That she loved him as he was. She took him from the Tower and into the world, and through her he came to experience the better parts of it. When he slipped up she would be there to cover for him, help him hide, acting as lover and protector and companion.

Through her he lived.

He feels torn about the destruction of the Tower. It had been his home for so long that a part of him mourned when it fell.

The other part rejoiced.

The deaths, the destruction, is not what he wanted, however. He had truly had friends there, and though they had not known him in the way that Lisa had, they still were his. He shed tears for them, and would always regret their passing. At the time, however, Lisa was his world; sealed in the deepest archives, he had broken the mainframe in order to escape, driven solely by the need to find her. When he did, a part of him died.

And another part was born.

The hours, the days, are lost in the tides of pain and rage and suffering. But his hands proudly wear the scars of construction, and later he would marvel that he, and he alone, built the machine that held his precious, that kept her breathing and kept her safe. In that time they must have been one; his hands bleeding over her body, over the metal of her skin, and each tear and whisper bound them ever closer, until they were of one mind. One purpose. He would save her, she begged to be saved, and he would use all he was to accomplish this.

His mother gave him choices, his father gave him cunning, and he would use both.

He managed to recover the mainframe, and buried in the ruin of the Tower with Lisa a steady presence beside him, he brought up all the information of Torchwood. The power he needs can only be found in one location, at one place, and only one man had the ability to get him to it. He would still hide but, this time, it was on his terms; this time it would not be him that would be used.

He needed the Rift.

It was time to return to Cardiff.

It was time to find Captain Jack Harkness.

He falls asleep curled next to Lisa on the converter, hoping that the steady beats of his hearts would reach her through her pain and comfort her; his beloved watch, his only surviving possession, pressed close against his own chest. Dreams of another time, another war, chase him down into sleep.

Like a lullaby, a steady beat lulls him past the nightmares and into rest.

The watch begins to tick steadily in his hand.

This is what Ianto knows.

On this planet he was, and always will be, a servant of Torchwood.

For the ones who see him, truly see him, he would give everything.

His father will always return.

These are certainties.

* * *

This is written in response to a query I posted on TWstoryfinder a while back, and as no one could help me out, I took matters into my own hands. While "Into the Rush" will be my twisty crack fic, this one will try to remain true to the spirit of Torchwood and Doctor Who, with minor alterations.

I hope to make this a series, and if anyone would like to help with the action scenes, let me know.


	2. Everything Changes

**Manifest Destiny**

here is the next part, I hope everyone enjoys.

Ianto may be a little dark, but at this point, we're still in Lisa-ville. I'm torn about the format, but, I'll see how it plays out.

* * *

Part 1: Everything Changes

"_Oh hi, sorry I'm late. Someone ordered pizza_?"

Ianto watches this woman, this girl, enter the Tourist office with wary eyes.

This could be the one, he thinks, that could change everything; this is the one that could be dangerous. Gwen Cooper is a vivacious and spirited woman, dogged, and she reminds him of Lisa as she had been, when she had pursued him in the Tower; how she had been persistent with gaining his favour, his affection. His attention.

And now this young PC has caught Jack's attention and she's pursuing the Captain and Torchwood with the same determination that Ianto fears. Because, for the first time since Ianto had been in Cardiff, Jack is sitting up and taking notice, no longer distracted, no longer distanced, no longer shut up in his office with the Hand and his thoughts.

No, Jack has finally opened his eyes and is seeing.

And Ianto fears, for as Jack is finally taking notice, how long until he takes notice of what Ianto has hidden in his basement?

It had been so easy, so incredibly easy for him to sneak Lisa into the Hub; it had actually been harder to get Jack to hire him. While he had hidden his own files, he had read all of Torchwood's, and it was what had been implied that had said more than what had actually been written about Jack Harkness that led Ianto into the dance the two of them had performed in that week; give and take of words, sex and coffee, and when that hadn't worked he had resorted to intrigue and a dinosaur.

Months later he still wasn't sure if it was Jack falling for his sudden charms (and suit) that had got him the job, or if it had been the dinosaur.

Compared to Jack the others had been easy to win over: quiet and shy Toshiko, degrading and sharp-edged Owen, and the aloof Suzie. A single day of good coffee and immaculate service and they had been his. And as he had gone about his duties, so familiar as he fell into the patterns of being invisible, he had slowly felt Jack's suspicion fade into acceptance and flirting, and his goal had been accomplished.

And now her.

These are the parts of himself that he hates, that he buries and closes off, and has only let Lisa seen on rare days when Owen's barbs, Jack's innuendos, and Suzie's condescension wear him down to what he was in the Tower; she had been the voice of calm in his rage before, and continued to be even through her pain, and he lets the thoughts of her strength give him his.

Yet the anger still remains, still churns, and if not for Lisa he would delete this existence and walk away. He watches Owen's self-respect crumble and says nothing. He watches Tosh pine and hope and offers no words of comfort. He sees the dying of Suzie's sanity and is silent. When he's alone in Jack's office and the Hand twitches in his direction, he moves away.

The darkest parts of him know how easy it would be to just kill Gwen Cooper, end her possibilities, and how it would simplify everything despite the _wrong_ of such actions. He fears what his mother would think of him for these thoughts.

Somehow he knows that his father would approve.

But the woman who waits in the tunnels of the Hub stills his hand, and on Jack's say so, he opens the door to let her into Torchwood.

Later he will delete all evidence of them from her life.

For now, he will smile.

Cooper stays. Suzie's gone.

Suzie's dead.

He isn't sure how he feels about the fact that Suzie's gone, and Gwen most assuredly is taking her place. Regret, possibly, for the loss of such a vibrant mind, but sadness? If it wasn't for Lisa, perhaps-- Suzie was a threat, but Gwen is the lesser one.

He hopes.

At Jack's instruction he locks the Glove away and watches the interactions of the two, how Jack simultaneously attracts and repels, and how Gwen is succumbing to his charm. He would call it pathetic, but, isn't he the same? He isn't a fool, and he isn't careless, yet there is something about Jack that invites freedom, and freedom is something that Ianto hasn't had for a long time. Jack may be a temptation but Ianto is realistic; Lisa has him, and even if she didn't, he had seen the way that Jack dealt with the aliens that came to Cardiff. Ianto was the one who had to clean up the blood and the intestines and refill the stock in the armoury.

No.

Jack is a temptation that Ianto would do well to avoid.

* * *

okay, next time: Day One

I think I'm going to go through the episodes and lead up to Last of the Time Lords.

Let me know if each ep should have a seperate chapter, or if I should start scrunching.


	3. Day One

**Manifest Destiny**

Next part up, I'm on a role! And this one actually has dialogue!

* * *

Part 2: Day One

Ianto's mother had once said that it's the little events that shape a universe.

It was just after his father had started to visit. His mother, supposedly immersed in her books, watched this, and when his father had gone always took him aside. It is choices, she would tell him; the greatest power in all of creation was choice, and what a person did with theirs, for good or for ill. Ianto has been too young to understand the gravity of her words, and decades later at the Tower, he was given evidence of it daily. Always selfish, always for ill. It had been Yvonne's choice that doomed the Tower and the hundreds of people within.

It was his choice to save Lisa.

But, as he tends to Myfanwy, he feels for the first time what might be regret.

It's not Lisa; Ianto will never regret anything concerning Lisa. Whatever the outcome, whether he succeeds or fails, he will never regret his choice. Yet, as he hears the laughter of the others, the ease in which they interact, he regrets what he chooses for himself. He could have left; he didn't need the Hub, he just needed to be on the Rift. And even if it makes things easier, he could have made do without Torchwood entirely. But Torchwood was all he knew. Save for the rare instances with Lisa, it was all he had experienced.

He was the slave who, once freed, still returned to his cage.

He's going through the final paperwork dealing with Gwen's recruitment when the phone rings. It's Jack's phone, not the Tourist Office's, and as the others are out at the pub he is the one to answer it. It was one of the bad days; Gwen had released an alien threat which had been the cause of several deaths, his new calibrations for Lisa's life support were fluctuating which caused him to find excuses to keep running to the lower levels in the hope that she still lived, and without her he had been stupid enough to draw attention to himself.

"_Just narrow the numbers down, I can check through the rest. (_They had stared at him.) _You know, the old fashioned way, with my eyes."_

He can clearly recall the odd look on Jack's face, half amusement, half speculation. He can recall the way that Jack's attention had strayed is way far too many times that day, and not just when he hungered for coffee or flirtation. Ianto had drawn more than a passing glance.

"You stupid pillock," he sighed as he made his way into Jack's office, folders still held loosely in his hands. With a deft finger he manages to hit speaker-phone. "Torchwood Three, Administrator Jones speaking."

The voice in his ear was jovial. "Ah, Mister Jones! This is your Minister of Defence, how are you tonight?"

Ianto unconsciously straightened. "Mr. Saxon. I'm afraid that Captain Harkness is not in at this time—"

The Minister let out a chuckle, and his voice wraps itself around Ianto. "No worries, this isn't an urgent matter. I really don't need to talk to him. I was just curious how everything was going, I mean, we don't hear enough from Torchwood Three down here in London. How are you?"

There was something in the tone, in the inflection, that struck Ianto as being, off. "I, I'm pleased to say that we're doing well. "

"Hmm, that's good to hear. I mean, after that tragic attack at Canary Warf, and wasn't it just a few days ago that a…Suzie Costello shot herself? My, that's too bad. Seems like a high stress environment. Added on to the training of new personal. You don't get much free time, do you?"

Ianto stiffened. "Sir, you," he stuttered. "You seem to be quite knowledgeable of our state already."

The Minister laughed as if waving the words away. "Do I? Well, I'm just trying to stay informed. Trying to avoid past mistakes and all that. Can't have any repeats."

Ianto found himself struggling to find breath, as if weighed by a great pressure. "No," he managed. "No, we can't."

Again there was that soft laugh, that knowing laugh, and Ianto found he could draw breath once more. "Ah, how foolish of me. Look at the hour! I'd best let you get back to it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight sir," Ianto moved to press the off button when Saxon spoke again.

"Oh, and Ianto? Don't bother telling Jack about this. I'll be seeing him soon anyways."

There was a click and then a dial tone.

With shaking hands Ianto placed the files on Jack's desk and backed out of the office, eyes glued on the phone as if it might attack at any moment. He wasn't sure what bothered him more; the knowledge that he, and Torchwood, was under surveillance or that Saxon knew his name when he had never spoken it.

Unsteadily he made his way through the corridors and to Lisa, his pulse racing in his veins to a familiar beat, and even as he found comfort in it, he knew that there was something wrong. He fell into the room and after re-checking her systems, he curled himself in the sleeping bag next to her and tried to calm himself. His hearts beat wildly, and while he knew-and every instinct screamed at him-that he should tell Jack right away, another part held him back. There's something, he thought, something I'm missing. Lulled by the soft whoosh of Lisa's respirator, he drifted off.

When he awoke, he vaguely remembered that there had been a call, but he couldn't recall from whom. He taps his fingers against the metal side of the cybernetic shell.

_Thrum-thrumthrum._

His earwig beeped. "Ianto, how about a cup of your gorgeous coffee?"

"Yes sir, I'll be right there."

It must not have been important.

* * *

Alright, everyone comment! I hope that too much wasn't given away, and that introspection and dialogue blended okay.

And that my Master voice was passable; he's atough one towrite. The crazies always are.

And I haft to admit, I getting intimidated: Cyberwoman is coming, and boy, that ep changes everything.

Next: Ghost Machine


	4. Ghost Machine

**Manifest Destiny**

Wow, look where I am already! I have to say, I've impressed myself so far, but the diificult is yet to come.

cause if this is three, guess what comes next...

oh, and due to the next chapter's content, I may be raising the rating.

* * *

Part 3: Ghost Machine

Ianto was once told that the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

This is an idea that he knows well, and never so apt as when he is struck with memories of his early years in the Tower. He had been hitting puberty (or the human equivalent), and the chemical changes in his body were of great interest to his hosts. Most of that time was lost, thankfully, for what kind of person wishes to remember having appendages cut off to see if the excess energy would grow them back? Genetic memory informed him that the brilliant light and buzz that filled him was natural, was akin to a human's growth spurt, and it filled his mind with strange thoughts and memories and knowledge; alone he found it frightening, made more so when they would come towards him with scalpels raised. Torture in the name of scientific discovery.

He stays well away from the memory device, but wonders, if used on him, what the others would see.

He wonders what he would of the others.

He brings them drinks while they're discussing it. Tosh looks excited, another piece of tech for her to study and analyze and tear apart; he wonders if that's all she sees when she sees the things that come through the Rift, items to be taken apart and studied. In his nightmares, its Lisa strapped down and taken apart, Tosh making notes at each piece dissembled, deaf to Lisa's cries; in the worse ones, it is him she is dissecting. Owen is bored; anything that has nothing to do with sex or drinking or lewd humour bores him. Even the flash of memory he was struck with, the rape of the girl, has faded by the end of the day, leaving Owen with only an uncomfortable illusion of humanity and compassion. Ianto knows that he may be being unkind with such thoughts, as he has hacked into Jack's personal files on them all, but it is hard to find sympathy for a man who makes it his entertainment to degrade him.

Gwen is easier to read, as she wears her pain bright as the sun, and all are welcome to it. Granted, she had had the most striking of experiences, but it hits him like a slap every time; her thoughts, her emotions, her obsessions are too familiar to him for him to feel comfortable with. It was sentiments like hers that fuelled the desires of Torchwood One, that made Yvonne such a formidable and dangerous woman, and he can see the same qualities in Gwen. He knows that it is only a matter of time before she is the cause of something that even Jack can't clean up after.

The road to hell, indeed.

Jack is harder to read, as his exuberance distracts from his true feelings. He plays at using the machine, at taking a peek into the past or the future, but still tells Ianto to lock it away. There is a shadow in Jack's eyes, a shadow that reminds Ianto too much of the ones that cloud his own, and he cannot help but find himself drifting towards Jack. He was never sure what it was about Jack, what appeal that he held for him. It isn't entirely sexual, as Ianto isn't motivated by desires and lust and tactile responses; at the Tower he was rarely touched, and even then the touches were scientific in nature, and never for pleasure. But it isn't not sexual either, as the longer that Ianto watches Jack, the more that he begins to notice how beautiful the man is, how warm is voice is, how he draws all attention and thought to him; he likens it to a black hole, and gravity is pulling him ever closer to the center. Lisa has Ianto, all of Ianto, but Jack brings forth response entirely foreign. Ianto is disturbed how easily he can see the happy leer fill Jack's face, how vibrant the blue of his eyes are, how gentle his hands feel when he brushes Ianto's own as they reach for a cup. These days he often finds himself thinking of Jack.

There's something very unique about the man.

It disturbs him.

He is still plagued with thoughts of Jack when he heads down to see Lisa after the others and said man have gone, but upon seeing her all other thoughts flee. She's still, too still, and if not for the continuous motion of the respirator, he would think her already gone. For the first time she isn't sweating, she's not shaking, she's not speaking. Her eyes are open but locked on a fixed position. Her face is terribly blank.

On shaking legs he makes his way to her, and his hand trembles violently as he reaches out to touch her face. For a long moment there is no response.

And then she speaks.

"They're there when I sleep Ianto, waiting, like a heartbeat, like a beacon, waiting for me in the dark."

He feels a chill sweep over him.

"Lisa?" he whimpers.

"He wants me to go, Ianto. He doesn't want me to have you."

"Lisa," he gasps and clutches at her hand. Is she hallucinating? Did he over medicate her? She had been in so much pain lately, and seemed to be drifting further and further, that he dared to give her more; he couldn't stand her pain. "Cariad, what's wrong? What are you saying?"

"Drums, Ianto," she says in a voice that has lost everything that has made it human. "There are drums in the dark."

The tears come, falling like they had when he had been torn from his mother's arms, and he presses his face into her side and sobs. What does Gwen know about pain, about sorrow, when Ianto is drowning in this despair. He's clinging to her, frantic, desperate, and he is unwilling to let go; he can't abandon her, she is the one who saved him, who introduced him to the good of this world, who gave him a life here? What life does he have without her?

It's like a prayer that he whispers into her metal skin.

"I won't let go," he says. "I won't let you go."

He presses his face closer and feels the twitch of her face beneath his. He doesn't hear her words.

"He won't share you."

The laptop set in the corner beeps sharply in the room's silence, alerting him of an incoming email.

Dr. Tanizaki is on his way.

* * *

the next is gonna be tough, but I don't skirt from a challenge, so I'll try to get it up as soon as I can. But honestly? As Jack will be coming out to play more, I'm not sure how I'll do; he's a difficult bastard to write.

Next: Cyberwoman


	5. Cyberwoman

**Manifest Destiny**

alright, here it is, I hope I did it justice. it didn't go the way I thought, but I'm not upset about it.

Though I may have to do an interlude before the next ep.

* * *

Part 4: Cyberwoman

_Ianto barely felt the mouth that covered his own._

_Golden strands wrap themselves around him, pulling him back from the darkness, and he knew that his time as Ianto Jones was ending. He was dying. Water was in his lungs and blood in his throat. One of his hearts had already stopped, and the other slowed, each beat less than the one before and soon it would silence. There was a red glow before him, regeneration beckoning, but he turned away. He blinded himself to it, as he had blinded himself to Lisa's true condition. Let him fall as the Tower had._

_He was no better then Torchwood. _

"Ianto," Jack whispers.

"Don't touch me. Don't touch me, why are you touching me."

Fingers wrap themselves around his arm, bruising, but secure. He is left to his grief, but held and watched, and the scent of the Captain hovers over him. Fingers that had clawed at metal skin clench into pained fists. His hands are bleeding, scars opened, his and Lisa's blood mixing once more, like they had at the Tower. Both times arrogance had been the cause of violence, of death. But unlike before, this time is different.

This time it is his fault.

The team had shot her, shot his Lisa (only it wasn't, yet it was, and oh god she had done it for him, worn a new face like some twisted regeneration) and he was dying without her. He was like a marionette with its strings cut; he had had nothing before Lisa, and now that she was gone, he was nothing. The numbness was soul deep and he no longer felt the cold from the Rift pool that had soaked his clothes, he no longer could smell the rancid combination of pizza sauce and blood, and he no longer cared what the others would do. What Jack would do.

There was nothing more that they could do to him anyway.

He feels a tug, the hands on him leading him away, and he knows that this is the last he'll see of Lisa. If Jack were smart, Ianto would never even know where her body was placed.

Torchwood keeps their own.

"Come on." Gwen's voice, soft and shocked and too human at his elbow, a hand on is back, and he shakes. He hasn't been touched so much for years, and never so gently, and he doesn't deserve it, not now, not when it is too late, and he feels all the wrong things.

"Stop, why are you, stop it, stop touching me."

Jack hasn't let go. Jack didn't let go. There is a truth in Jack's grip that he can't escape, a truth in Jack's touch that he can't hide from.

And in Jack's kiss was all the answers that he had been fearing.

_There is a strange taste in his mouth; it burns and tingles and pulses like a star against his tongue, and pulls him back into himself, moving through him like the Rift. It whispers promises in his mind, and shows him paths and events and futures and pasts, and the whole of creation. It shows him and Lisa as they were, innocence in his eyes as he marvels at the zoo and aquarium and his first taste of coffee and the rare time they went camping and he told her the names of all the stars that hadn't even been born yet, and he slept to reminiscences of his mother's voice doing the same._

_Lisa was his home in a world that wasn't. _

_The pressure of the heat, of the light, continues but shows he and Lisa as they are and of what could have happened. It shows him multiple things, dark things, and all of them true: Lisa as she converts him, but fails, and it is he and not Tanizaki that is severed and in pieces, and the horror of the team as they find him, as they fail to stop Lisa. He sees Jack caught, dying again and again, surrounded by the corpses of his team, Ianto the first to fall, always the first. He sees Jack finding him after Lisa has put her brain inside his body, and the agony on Jack's face as he is faced with this new creature in familiar. He sees himself snapping, killing the others, and then turning the gun on himself after he shoots Lisa in the delivery girl's body. He sees the rise of the new cyber army. It doesn't show him any other possibilities._

_It doesn't show Jack shooting him._

_It never shows him that._

_And as much as he wishes it was any other way, the light cannot lie, cannot influence, as it just is; it merely exists. And it was he, and no one else, that started this. He made the choice to do this, to try, but Lisa could never be saved._

_He wakes to find Jack's lips over his own and his twin hearts beating out a proud rhythm in his chest. Then Lisa screams and instinct moves him, save her, protect her, despite the futility._

_It never occurs to him that Jack could have possibly felt the double-beat against his own single one._

Jack is staring at him but he doesn't care. The two of them are sitting in Ianto's living room, Ianto on the couch and Jack leaning against the door frame of the kitchen, and Jack is staring but Ianto doesn't care.

"Where is your furniture?" Jack asks.

Ianto blinks at the room, as if just becoming aware of his surroundings.

"I have a bed, a table, and a couch. I didn't know I needed more."

Jack raises an eyebrow. "This is a helluva place to be stuck for four weeks. At this point it more resembles a cell than anything else." He pauses. "Unless this is some strange modern deco thing, then, it looks really good."

Ianto shrugs. "It's what I'm used to."

"The deco or the cell?"

"Why don't you tell me, _Sir_? What day do you want me back?"

"What makes you think I want you back? We can't exactly trust you, can we. I could just retcon you and make you someone else's mistake."

Ianto turns to look at him.

"You wouldn't."

Jack smirks. "That's awfully sure. What makes you think I won't?"

"You're Torchwood."

"Come again?"

Ianto turns away, his words barely audible.

"I am a servant of Torchwood."

There is silence, and the sounds of the street filter inward as if through a glass wall. A glass bowel, Ianto thinks and smiles without humour.

Jack begins to talk again. "Funny thing Ianto, after this I decided to have another look at your records, see if you could be hiding any other little dirty secrets, and do you know what I found in your files? Nothing. They seemed to be rather like this apartment; minimalist, bare, vacant."

"I'm a teaboy," he says.

Jack continues on. "But on your girlfriend, there was quite a lot. Lisa Hallett, a brilliant mathematician and heavily involved in specialized research. And there the file ends, and as for the research? Need to know only, except I can't access it. Only the Director of Torchwood One can." Jack clicks his tongue against his teeth, the noise abominably loud in the bare apartment. "Now why would such a clever and brilliant young woman spend her time with a _teaboy?"_

There's nothing he can say, nothing that won't give everything away to this man that had dared to order him to execute his love, and all Ianto is able to do is shrink in on himself at Jack's insinuations.

"You accused me of not paying attention, Ianto. I am now."

And Jack leaves, knowing not to push, knowing when best to leave the wounded animal to lick its wounds.

Ianto watches him go and counts time.

Despite what Ianto had felt in that timeless moment between life and death, when Jack had pressed _himself_ into Ianto, and Ianto had seen and known all things; despite the acceptance deep down that Jack had been right and Lisa couldn't have been saved, and despite the certainty that Jack is actually a good man, Ianto is silent.

Jack doesn't deserve his secrets.

* * *

its slow going, getting these boys together, as Ianto hurts so well and Jack is a mysterious bugger. But, if I'm up to the challenge, its all uphill from here. Well, at least for an ep.

Next: Small Worlds


	6. Small Worlds

**Manifest Destiny**

next part up, and I have to say, I'm really proud of this one. I hope that you all enjoy it as much as I do!

* * *

Part 5: Small Worlds

Ianto once said that he would watch Jack suffer and die.

At the time he meant it.

_A man and a woman are dancing in a garden, their laughter high and clear, and the joyful quality makes him laugh along with them. The man twirls her then dips low, and nuzzles his nose against hers in a fond manner, and he realizes that the two are not just lovers but also dear friends. The man's love is huge, it seems to encompass all things, and it is bright and golden and even though he is not the recipient he basks in its regard. From his position in the doorway he can't make out the man's face, but the woman's is clear; she is beautiful, not conventionally really, but in her shines forth an exuberance that is rare and innocent and so vibrant. He knows that this is a woman who loves wholly and forever, that this is a woman who still views the world with childlike wonder. Before him the man pulls her back up and rests her against him, and they rock to an unheard song. He moves forward, wishing to hear the song, driven by waiting to take some piece of this for himself, to experience what is before him. The man raises his head and he stumbles back, as Jack's eyes meet his own. _

He seemed to step into Jack's dreams regularly these days.

Ianto assumed that it was due to his race's natural telepathic abilities, for when he slept he often saw other people's thoughts. The unconscious mind is basically defenceless in sleep, and while he was able to mostly block the constant hum of emotion during the day, at night he was as weakened as the people's minds he visited. It was how he knew the codes to break into the Tower's mainframe and change his file. It was how he knew that Lisa wasn't like the others, and had no intention to hurt him.

It is also the reason that he forgave Jack.

The first time he truly lost control of it he had fallen at his desk, head resting on crossed arms, exhausted after his first week back. It had been a given that he would return to Torchwood, he had nowhere else to go ( retcon wouldn't work on him) and Jack seemed more inclined to watch him then kill him. At first he believed that it was because the Captain was waiting for the next monster to jump out of Ianto's closet (keep waiting Harkness) but then Ianto changed his mind; Jack's gaze wasn't suspicious, just constant, watchful. It made him feel considered, rather then studied.

It unnerved him.

It was as he slept then that he dreamed, though looking back, it was more premonition than anything. He saw men in uniform, laughing in a boxcar, excited and relaxed; he heard a voice he recognized and jack came into view, and then darkness fell, thick with the scent of roses and he choked on them. Massive shapes flew behind his closed eyes, jackal faces and long tree-like fingers that reached, and a horrible mockery of children's laughter chased him into wakefulness. He bolted upright, and had sworn that he could still smell the petals. He had straightened himself out and continued on is duties, knowing 

that he would sleep no more that night. It only occurred to him later, when jack had come up from his hole, that he had been a part of the other man's dream.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you."

Jack's hand on his shoulder had only confirmed it, as everything in Ianto's body sung at his touch, racing at the slight connection that remained. He told himself that he only imagined it when Jack had flinched as he slammed his mental walls up once more.

The second time, this time, Ianto was unable to lie to himself.

_Her hair is loose and hangs in curls, and Jack presses his face to them, and speaks words of worship._

The faeries were gone, jasmine was gone, and people were dead including a woman that Gwen said that Jack knew. Estelle. Ianto's mask was set in stone but he knew that she was the girl in the garden, the one that Jack loved. The others had stormed home, burning with indignant and righteous anger, and Ianto was struck by their ignorance and hypocrisy; as much as he hated to justify Jack, there was nothing else the man could have done, and really, what would the others have done in his place? He remained silent however, keeping the thoughts to himself as the others moved past and out the cog door, and he watched Jack seclude himself in his office.

The others only saw the small, while Ianto was cursed with seeing everything.

He may (at one time) have hated the man, but Ianto was growing tired of suffering; he was tired of pain and of cages and everything. He wanted to take pleasure in the obvious anguish of the man, but, his own words haunted him; it was obvious the man had loved just as deeply as Ianto had, and though it hurt him to think, more wisely as well. At least Jack had known when it was time to say goodbye. He gripped the package under his arm and made his way to Jack's office. Jack's voice called through the door.

"Is there going to be a lynching, Ianto?"

"No sir, the mob has retreated for the night."

He entered to Jack's dry chuckle, the man in question sitting stiffly in his chair, but weighed down by the pain in his eyes. Ianto shuffled nervously and placed the package on the desk. Jack rand his hands over it and picked it up, shaking it slightly.

"What's this? I hope it's not a bomb; you do know that you'd be the one clearing up the mess."

Ianto cleared his throat. "Sir, if you pardon, I took the liberty of arranging some matters for you."

"Such as?"

He let out a breath. "The funeral arrangements sir."

Jack was silent, the room humming with an odd tension, and Ianto clasped his hands tightly.

"You didn't have to do that." Jack said, voice hushed.

Ianto had no reply.

Jack tipped the package. "What's in the box?"

"Some items of her I thought, I knew, that you wouldn't want shut away." He let out a sigh. "It's only right that you should have them."

Jack ran a hand over the letters and photos that had spilled out, and a finger tip ran reverently over the girl's face. His eyes lost their focus and Ianto stepped back as they filled with tears; he trembled as Jack started to shake, he shouldn't be seeing this, it was wrong to see the other man this way. He made his way to the door.

"What happened to the cat?"

Ianto turned. "I took him. It didn't seem right to leave something that she clearly loved behind. "

"No," Jack whispered, "it's not right. Thank you for your thoughtfulness."

"Sir." Ianto nodded and left the office, releasing his breath in a sigh, and he made his way down the steps.

Jack's soft voice followed him out.

"You're something special, aren't you Ianto?"

Ianto paused but didn't turn back.

"No more then you sir."

He leaves Jack to privacy and his memories.

_He sees a man and woman in a garden, he sits and watches as she dances barefoot in the rain, her face raised to catch the drops on her face. He makes himself comfy by a lilac bush and breathes the fragrance in; if his is still to be a voyeur, he might as well be a comfy one. A hand is placed on his shoulder, gently, and he turns behind to see Jack, an older and worn looking Jack, but one that still watches the scene with all the love that exists in the younger one's eyes. The other man settles next to him and the two wait for the rain to stop, sheltered together, and as true sleep comes Ianto feels a hand take his own. _

Ianto once told Jack that he would watch him suffer and die.

At the time he meant it.

He doesn't anymore.

* * *

alright, this was a good chapter but I hear the Master calling my name, so I think he'll be sticking his nose in the next one. Cheeky bugger!

Next: Countrycide


	7. Countrycide

**Manifest Destiny**

okay, this time I'm begging for reviews. I'm not feeling this chapter; so opinions would be great.

* * *

Chapter 6: Countrycide

Ianto always knew that humans were capable of terrible things.

His experiences with Torchwood One had drilled in the fact that not all humans were humane.

But this was beyond horrifying, even with all the things that he had experienced with Torchwood; at least aliens had either a chemical or biological or in-bred condition to be carnivorous, even though Ianto could only remember less than five species out of billions that would cannibalize their own.

What that said about the human race Ianto didn't even want to venture a guess at.

He was leaning (more like listing) against the side of an ambulance and the flashing lights were giving him a headache. To be honest with himself, he's been off since they'd found the village; later, after finding the bodies (meat) he guessed that it was the residue from all the horror, and pain, and terror that the victims had felt at their fate. At this moment, when he felt like his eyeballs were about to pop out of his head, he thought that being telepathic was a real bitch.

He watches Owen try to place Gwen in the SUV, mindful of her wound, and sees how his hands fuss over her; he must be very out of it, to imagine the ebb and flow of their emotions as they rebound off each other, only to keep entangling. He remembers how the other man had hovered as she was checked out by the arriving medics, how Owen had made sure that they all were checked out; Ianto had slid away, tossing a "I've already been looked over" at the doctor before settling himself in his current position. Usually he's better than this, hiding what he is, and by now has the control to completely mask his twin hearts and strange respiratory system with little difficulty; it's a testament to how shaken he is that, if Owen were to touch him, he'd have no difficulty finding the rapid double-pulse.

He's surprised that Tosh or Gwen hadn't heard it earlier, as well. He remembers how excited the villagers were about Tosh's ethnic heritage and their comment about Chinese food. He wonders if he would have tasted different from human meat; he wonders if he would have regenerated when they slit his throat, or if he would have just died when they cut off his head. He's glad that Tosh had escaped, if only for a little bit. Her mind had been brilliant and quick and had put his own to shame; he was proud of her.

He sees Tosh, brave little Tosh, checking the back, making sure that all of the equipment is still there and in once piece. While others look for human connection she looks for the electronic one, the one that she knows won't hurt her; Ianto can't blame her for that. Somewhere over to his right he can hear Jack, barking orders.

He supposes that that is his comfort.

Ianto has no comfort.

"Ianto Jones?"

There is a man beside him, no one he knows, and dressed in a nice but functional suit. The man doesn't quite fit in, he appears too fixed, too immaculate, and his eyes don't burn with the same horror that the other emergency worker's carry. The man is looking him over with a gaze that feels more intense then a medic's. Jack hasn't noticed, has in fact taken Gwen to talk to demand answers out of the husband, and he can see Owen hovering at the door. He squints, as the pain in his head plus the light makes his sight blurry, but he thinks that he sees the men loading the prisoners into the police van; somehow he is sure that these men aren't police.

Ianto squints at the man. His voice is familiar. "Yes?"

"Hell of a thing, this. May I take your statement?"

The places a hand of Ianto's arm.

Something is of about this, very off; this man cannot be either PC or detective and really, Ianto shouldn't be speaking without talking to Jack first. And yet he can't stop and tells the man everything, for the first initial speculations (edited a bit at least; he may be out of it but not that much) to the disastrous discovery of the village and its contents. He feels the fear start to rise and one word from the man drives it back, the weight of his injuries press down on him and the man rubs a hand over him skin and the pain subsides, until he is floating numbly of waves of endorphins by the end of his story, feeling safe under the man's regard, his pulse now a steady _thrum-thrumthrum-thrum_ in his chest. His gaze shifts over to the building where Jack and Gwen have just exited, the villager being dragged out once they're gone, and he cannot help but flinch.

"Is that the one who beat you?" The man whispers in his ear and Ianto is so far gone that the dangerous tone doesn't register. Ianto nods and the man's hand tightens on his arm slightly, and again Ianto misses the look on the other man's face. One of the PC's doesn't, however, and steers the villager away and into another car. Gwen storms away and after a moment of watching her, Jack turns and starts in his direction.

The man steps away, although his hand lingers, and Ianto finds himself blinking, as if just coming awake.

"Thank you for your time. Don't worry, these _people_ will get exactly what they deserve." The man's voice is sharp like blades, and there is a glee there that makes Ianto meet those eyes that burn so cold. He feels clouded, like he's missing something important.

"Ah, here comes your _Captain_. Take care, Ianto Jones."

"Y,yes sir."

Jack is waylaid by Tosh, and the man uses that moment to press close once more, leaning his forehead against Ianto's.

"It's alright. Let time fade it away."

And then he is gone.

Ianto's left heart skips a beat.

Jack appears at his shoulder.

"Hey, you alright?"

He nods because he can't speak; it's all too much, too soon after this, to be pushed into fond memories of his past. His father had said that to him whenever he had got adventurous and hurt himself, or had a nightmare. _Let time fade it away._ Jack takes his arm (almost the exact same spot) and pulls him to the SUV where the others are waiting; Ianto falls into the scent of the other man and the warmth of him chases away the cold that had settled in Ianto since this whole thing began.

"Let's get out of here." Jack says, climbing into the front, and Ianto settles himself next to Tosh in the back, and the two of them rest their hands against the other. As the vehicle pulls out Ianto takes one last look at the village, at the emergency vehicles, at the countryside; he finally feels his hearts settle as the leave the area behind. It is only later that he will find it strange at how quickly help had come.

But then his father always promised that he would come for him.

Ianto closes his eyes and begins to shake.

* * *

I assume we all know who the man was; it seems to me, that if he was keeping an eye on his son, that when it all went down he'd be right there. And, as this is all Ianto's pov for the moment (once the sequence is over, I think in the Year I'll do multiple pov so that we can get into the other's minds) what we know islimited by what he knows or can sense.

That said, and given that in the series nothing more is ever said about the villagers and what happened to them, can you just imagine what the Master would do to someone who hurt his son?

Yeah, I can as well, and I lack the balls to write it.

Imagine away!

* * *


	8. Greeks Bearing Gifts

**Manifest Destiny**

two chapters in one day; I'm on a role! let's hope its a good one.

warnings are there's a couple swears in this, buts that's all.

* * *

Chapter 8: Greeks Bearing Gifts

Ianto stared into the bathroom mirror, lost in the churning blue of his own eyes, the steady ticking of his watch the only noise in the flat.

He had left the Hub and gone home, because he needed to think. It had been a bad fucking week-- Owen and Gwen's transparent and juvenile affair, the Minister's sudden and heavy interest in Torchwood's operations, Tosh's—

He needed to get away from everyone, from Torchwood, from Jack.

_A stomach full of rats._

He knew that Time Lords and humans were very similar, in very different ways. They looked the same, could act the same, and despite evolutionary and intellectually being light years apart, they had many of the same drives.

He never knew that he could hate someone so much as he did Mary.

She had used and attacked Tosh.

She had attacked Tosh.

Tosh.

He slammed his hand into the mirror, glass breaking and falling to the ground, fragments stuck in his skin, flecks of blood marring the pristine walls. His lips curled, his eyes burned, and he felt a scream rise in his throat. It was the rebound effect, the mental and emotional backlash from Tosh's anguish and betrayal, Jack's anger and fierce protective fear, and Gwen and Owen's sharp and bitter condescending adrenaline; under the sharp onslaught his own mental shields had wavered, and the reside had begun to leak through, until all the pent up feelings of the others had driven him out of his skull. Pushing his way out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, he stormed to the kitchen and thrust his hand under the faucet, absentmindedly plucking the tiny shards out and watching the skin seal. Why Tosh? She was unique and clever and innocent in a way that was appealing, and even if her questioning nature did frighten him a bit at times, it was also what drew him to her. He liked Tosh, and by all that was Holy, if Jack hadn't of sent the bitch to the sun—

He fell with a gasp, with a broken sob.

Stop.

He sounded like his father.

He was thinking about his father a lot lately.

_He loved his father and, despite the absences, he knew that his father loved him. But he knew his father was not a good man._

_He had witnessed evidence of this only once._

_His mother had taken him to some sort on intergalactic bizarre to pick up some parts for one of her inventions when he had become separated from her; a rough hand had grabbed him and pulled him away, and into one of the many buildings. He remembers seeing other children from different races, sacred and crying and huddling together, and hearing his kidnappers talking about "transmit" and "profit" and "brothel." He had bravely, though his mother called him foolish, defended the others and had been hit a few times for it; he clearly remembers feeling one of his ribs go. The rest isn't so clear but he remembers hearing a haughty and darkly humorous voice-father's-and then red; as an adult he knew that the attack must have been swift, for there to have been no screams. At the time, in pain and shaking, he had felt hands lift him and, upon feeling his father's touch brush across his mind, he had curled himself into the dark clothing and had clung.. His father pressed a kiss to his forehead, moustache tickling his skin. _

"_At the time I thought he would be best kept safe with you, my dear. In the future be more careful," his father had said to his mother when they had been reunited. "Or I will take him."_

_Strawberry-blonde hair blinded him as he was passed to her shaking arms, mother who feared nothing feared father, and the last he felt before they left was the gentle hand on his back, soothing, and caught the scent of iron on his skin. _

_His father loved him, and god help anyone who hurt one that he loved._

Ianto wraps him arms around his knees and pulls them close, head resting on them. He was more like his father then he wanted to be, but was that up to genetics (oh he hoped not) or more to what Torchwood had ingrained in him; all he knew was that once he found out what Mary had done, he would have gleefully killed the thing, maybe burned her mind away like she tried to do to Tosh.

You don't hurt the ones Ianto loves.

Which was a frightening revelation unto itself, for whenever did he consign himself to feel anything for these people?

He sighed and stood, pushing his pants off and heading to the living room, when there was a knock at his door. No one, since Jack that one time, had ever come round his flat; even after the Brecons, under orders he had stayed at the Hub, with Jack's watchful eye on him, and had only recently been able to make it back before this mess had started up. It's a good thing Moses was being cared for by a neighbour of the thing would surely have starved.

He opened the door and found Tosh on the other side, a small and breaking Tosh, and Ianto had had just about enough this day, so he pulled her in and down on the couch with him. She burst into tears and he held her.

"I came to you, because you know, you understand," she warbled into his shoulder. And yes, he supposed he did understand.

"Shh Cariad, its not alright now, but it will be" he said, trying to sooth the psychic abrasions that using the pendant had left on Tosh's mind. She blinked up at him, and he wiped her tears away.

"But I heard you, you're still suffering, still in so much pain."

He sighed and pressed her closer.

"Things have been...a little raw lately. Impossibles and what-ifs and everything."

"You said that Torchwood was all you had." Her hand started to pull at his shirt and he couldn't lie to her, not now.

"It is. For the longest time it is all I've had, all I've known; I guess its comfy somehow, strangely safe, in a world where nothing else is. Where nothing else can be trusted." Including girlfriends and lovers and bosses and friends and the past and the future.

"Yeah," Tosh managed. He gave her a tissue and she pulled back to blow her nose. She looked around. "You have no furniture."

"Why does everyone insist on me having furniture? Do I honestly need a dinette set with matching chairs? Will my life not be complete without an adjustable reclining chair?"

There was a laugh from the doorway.

"As long as you have a bed, I don't care." Jack said as he entered, shutting the door that Ianto had left open behind him.

"I didn't think a bed was necessary for you," Ianto said as he shifted Tosh over so Jack could sit beside him. Jack winked at him as he handed both Tosh and Ianto a bag of food.

"It isn't."

The three of them sat on Ianto's couch and ate. It wasn't comfortable, it wasn't uncomfortable, it just was.

Jack swallowed his mouthful.

"You really need a television."

Her laughter filled up all the dark places, bright once more, and he couldn't stop his own slight chuckle; Jack's outshone them all.

The next day Tosh helped him pick out a television.

Some allowances just had to be made.

* * *

alright, that's done. Came pretty easy, and I hope that its up to par with the rest. Reviews give me strength to live, so, can I have some more please?

Next: They Keep Killing Suzie

* * *


	9. They Keep Killing Suzie

**Manifest Destiny**

alright, this time there are warnings: not really graphic sex ahead, but graphic enough for there to be a warning. Its slash, so if you don't like you're probably not reading this story in the first place and I'm just writing for the fun of it.

If you didn't know, you've been warned.

I think I have a phobia whenever I post a new chapter in this, so, I hope it meets expectations.

* * *

Chapter 8: They Keep Killing Suzie

Ianto was a virgin in all things before he met Jack. His life before the fall of the Tower had been closed, secretive, with only Lisa and the moments they could steal to give him any sense of what the world was truly like; after, when he came to Cardiff, he had been so focused on helping her that he had blocked out everything else, save her needs and survival. Even his life before earth had been secluded and isolated, with only his mother and occasionally his father for constant companionship. He knew that this was the reason that Jack frightened him so much.

Jack made him want to look, and made him live.

Ianto wasn't sure he was ready.

He was trembling as he entered the office, beloved watch clutched tightly in his hand, the steady ticking giving him the courage to cross the threshold and go to the Captain. Jack, who was leaning against the front of his desk, was watching with a soft smile on his face. When the two were face-to-face, so close they could taste each other's breath, Jack reached down and pulled up his hand and took the watch from him; Ianto had gripped it hard enough to leave welts and Jack traced each one with his tongue. Ianto shuddered and felt his body fold into Jack's, drawn by the heat that was constant with Jack. He breathed deeply and his senses were flooded with pheromones.

"_God," he gasped and struggled to keep tight hold on his self-control, struggled to keep the pounding of his hearts hidden._

"_Is it alright?" Jack whispered, nuzzling Ianto's neck and pressing kisses to the exposed skin._

"_Y,yeah," Ianto breathed. "It's just, I haven't been touched in.a while."_

"_Well," And Ianto could feel Jack's smile against his skin. "That's about to change."_

He stood on the Plas and watched the people pass by, invisible to them as they moved through their lives, just a distant shadow flitting through their perception. They were happy, they were sad, they were angry, unsatisfied; they were. And it scared him that he wanted to be too. He thought of Gwen, of all her emotion and beliefs and flaws, and knew that this, before him, was her world. That this is what she, and Jack, tried to protect. Even Jack, contained, exuberant Jack, blended into the world better then he did. What is it they see, he wondered, that made them strive so hard to protect this place?

"I want to see it too," he whispered.

Each piece of clothing had been slowly removed, and even though he longed to hide and keep hidden, he couldn't move away from Jack, from the warmth of the other man's hands, and how when the panic of discovery started to rise, Jack would sooth him with a kiss or a word. He had moaned as he was bared to the man and had felt the lust hit him like a physical force, Jack holding nothing back as he shed his clothes more quickly then he had Ianto's, and pulled Ianto up into a messy and passion filled kiss. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced and after the first swipe of Jack's tongue, he had given up trying to reciprocate and had simply been swept away.

_He had begun to shake; it was too soon, too much, but instead of pulling away he had pressed closer to Jack, willing him to make it all better. Jack was like a fixed point in a constantly spinning world and Ianto needed his stability._

_Jack rolled Ianto down and underneath him, moving his head away and down Ianto's chest. _

_And then lower._

"_So beautiful," he said. "My beautiful Ianto."_

_Ianto couldn't stop it, and his chest rose and fell in frantic movements, his hands pulling at the camp bed's rough sheets._

"_S,sir!"_

_Jack moved back up his body and met Ianto's eyes with his own. He settled his weight between Ianto's thighs and raised his hands to Ianto's, entwining their fingers together._

"_Jack," he said, and his eyes twinkled like the skies that Ianto remembered from his childhood. Tentatively Ianto raised his face, his body, his all to meet his Captain._

"_Jack." _

_Jack's smile was blinding._

"Now that's a serious face," a rough male voice whispered in his ear, a tongue quickly following the words, and Ianto turned to meet Jack's mouth with his own. The other man settled himself besides Ianto, body half covering the younger man's, and he turned to watch what had so captivated his, what, lover? Ianto wasn't sure what he was to Jack.

"What's wrong?"

"They're all so vulnerable," Ianto said.

Jack watched a group of couples pass by. "But that's why we're here; to protect them. The twenty-first century is where it all changes and—"

"We have to be ready," Ianto finished with a sly smile.

Jack huffed in his ear.

Ianto kept his eyes fixed on the horizon and frowned. "But will we be ready, do you think? Or is it all for naught, and we'll fall under the darkness first."

Jack pulled back and turned Ianto towards him. "Okay, now that's a little morbid. And depressing. And not at all sexy."

"Sorry," Ianto said, "it's been a morbid kind of day."

"Forgiven," Jack said as he pulled Ianto to his feet and led him towards the city center. "But only if you join me in an incredibly fattening meal that we will then have to work off, together." He waggled his eyebrows and Ianto laughed, letting the other man pull him close and kiss him.

"I think that will be acceptable."

"Mmm," Jack purred. "I can't wait."

His hands clutched at Jack's back, leaving clawed trails that his then soothed with the pads of his fingers. His head tossed and turned and his couldn't decide whether to close his eyes or keep them open; he couldn't bear to look at Jack, jack whose eyes didn't stray, whose eyes seemed to see right into him. Finally Ianto had had enough and reached his head up to bite at Jack's mouth, wildly, untamed, and Jack moaned his appreciation into Ianto's neck.

"What are you doing," Ianto gasped, "What are you doing to me?"

One sharp movement had him tossing his head back, exposing his throat, and Jack followed the long line of it down with his mouth. He was so out of it that he didn't notice when Jack dipped his head down to kiss at his chest.

"_Oh Ianto," Jack groaned into his skin and pushed them together harder. "You, you are a precious thing."_

_With a vicious movement that took Jack by surprise Ianto rolled them until Jack was beneath him, and grinding himself down on the other man, drove them both to completion. Jack held him close, not letting him move away, and pulled the wrinkled sheet over their bodies. Harsh panting filled the air, and unheard beneath it, was Ianto's soft words._

"_What have you made me?"_

This was complicated. This was wrong.

This was happiness.

With Jack's hand in his own, the other man's warmth at his side, and his Captain's laughter filling his heart, Ianto found that the thought of losing this was beyond bearable.

At that moment he found that he understood Suzie far better then he would have liked. What would he do, to keep this feeling, to keep this moment?

Anything, to keep it as his.

Yes, he thought, I understand you Suzie. Everyone wants to live, and keep on living; everyone wants something that will last forever.

And after all, what else is regeneration, but an attempt to live forever?

* * *

whew, that was my first sex scene. Gah! I hope it was, is good even the right word? Enjoyable? Hmm. Eh, I hope it did the job.

Next: Random Shoes


	10. Random Shoes

** Manifest Destiny**

I think that out of all the episodes for season one, this was the one I just couldn't get a feel for. And after the finale of DW I'm kinda burned out. So this chapter may not be as good as the others.

* * *

Chapter Nine: Random Shoes

Ianto has a box of treasures that he keeps in his closet. He knows that this is cliché, but as it is the obvious place, it is also the best place.

No one would expect a person to hide anything important in a closet.

It is a box that only he can open, as it is genetically locked, and he does so now while he sure not to be interrupted. Despite Jack's insistences that she go home, Ianto knows that Gwen's dragged their leader off somewhere to talk about humanity, life, and death; he wonders if he should feel jealous, as he and Jack are _together_, but at this point he is merely content that he has the time to do this.

He pulls out the box and sits, cross-legged like a child, on his bed. He opens it and pulls out the only two possessions that he has left of his previous life.

Two items: one a gift from his mother, the other from his father.

He holds his mother's gift first, and the slender cylinder hums as he flicks it on, remembering of how exasperated his mother had gotten when he had used it in his curiosity to unlock mysteries, and never putting them back together when he was done.

It had been his birthday and she had taken him on a special trip to the planet Barcelona. There had been fireworks and music and then, while they had lain side by side and watched the stars dance above, she had risen and pulled a package from her coat. She kneeled before him, and placed it in his hand, and his eyes lit up in wonder, and he tore open the gift and pulled out what was inside. He clutched it to his chest and let out a happy squeal, his small fingers already learning every nuance and component of the gift.

"What is it?" He asked, finding the on button and causing it to emit a loud hum and flash blue, the tell-tale sign that whatever it was, it was sonic.

"It's something I made a long time ago, and has always been reliable," she said. "It's a sonic screwdriver."

He looked up and at her, eyes wide in confusion. "A screwdriver? Why would a screwdriver need to be sonic?"

He didn't understand her reaction, but was still pleased when his usually sedate mother burst into laughter.

"Why indeed," she said.

He smiles now, thinking of that moment, and how later the little gift proved just how useful a sonic screwdriver could be.

He remembers how his father had hidden how displeased he was with the sight of his son with the little screwdriver.

He puts it aside with a sigh, longing to carry it once more, but unwilling to bring attention to the item, and knowing that Jack would defiantly take an interest, which is the one thing that Ianto wanted to avoid at all cost. He knows that his lover would ask, would press, and would demand answers that Ianto will not give him; heaven knows that if the situation were reversed (has been reversed) that Jack wouldn't tell him anything. He likes his Captain, could possibly feel more for the man, but that doesn't mean that he would trust him with anything other then his life.

He wonders what it says about him, that he values his secrets more than his life.

He slips the other item into his palm and rubs his fingers over the etched constellations on the surface of the watch, and recalls the tales his father used to speak of as they walked under the skies of his home, and how one day his father would give them all to him.

"The most important thing to remember about time," his father had said. "is that it is fickle."

The two were standing under the great blackness of the night sky and he had turned his attention away from counting all the worlds that he knew, to his father.

"Fickle?" he asked.

His father nodded, and stroked his dark mustache. "Yes. While it may be a constant to us, it can be changed and manipulated. Anyone, anything, can change an event or the course of a life. Time is very unreliable. That is why it must be controlled; that is why it must be mastered." He placed a hand on his son's head. "I never allow myself to be a slave to it, and when you are ready, I'll show you how to master it as well."

His father had taken him back to the house, and has placed the watch in his hands, cupping them around it and it seemed to him that each movement of the hands was like a heart or drum beat.

"This is my gift to you."

It was the last time he had seen his father before he was taken, before the war, and before he used both gifts to tear open time and space to flee from the devastation that would come. A little tinkering and he had managed to harness enough vortex energy to ride the Rift to safety, and to Cardiff. Doing so had broken both tools, and although he had managed to fix the screwdriver, the watch had never run since.

Until now.

It beat out a rhythm in his palm and drove his hearts into the same pattern, thrumthrumthrum-thrum-thrum, and he tapped it out against the lid. It shouldn't have been possible after all this time, but he worked for Torchwood, and Ianto was begging to believe in the impossible; even if it could be the most impossible thing. Lately it had felt as if his father is still alive, and even though he should be ecstatic at the thought, all he was filled with was uncertainty.

The beat that had once been comforting now made his hearts catch in fear.

He jumped as his phone rang.

"Yes?" He asked, voice hesitant.

"Ianto? You alright?"

He let out the breath he had been holding in a silent sigh. "Jack. Where are you?"

"Just nearing the outskirts of Cardiff," he said.

"Really?" Ianto asked. "You're coming in quite clear."

"This Archangel Network has really great reception."

He hummed in response and started to pack away his box.

"Hey," Jack said. "I'm on my way back to the Hub with Chinese, more then enough for two..?"

Ianto couldn't help a smile. "Yes, I'll be right there sir."

Jack growled. "Hmm, kinky Ianto. Will you call me that when I'm licking this sauce off your—"

"Yes," Ianto interrupted with a laugh. "That's quite enough. Some thoughts are better kept private. You never know who might be listening in."

A chill passed over him.

Jack laughed. "Well I now Tosh would have no complaints. Hurry over; I can't wait to loosen you up."

After Jack had hung up Ianto had stared at the phone for a long moment, the only sound in the flat was the ticking of the watch through the closed box.

You never know who might be listening in.

Ianto turned his gaze out the window and stared into the darkness, shivering.

* * *

Alright, so before the questions come piling in, here is a spoiler/info drop.

Ianto's father is the Master

Ianto's mother is Romana, who built he own sonic screwdriver (better then the Doctor's) and left him ot go to E-space.

In the Year, I plan on building on how the two of them came together long enough to have a Ianto.

Don't you wish we could all have one?

Next: Out of Time


	11. Out of Time

**Manifest Destiny**

here is the next chapter, where I take a lot of liberties.

* * *

Chapter Ten: Out of Time

Ianto stood outside his apartment and stared into the interior of the vehicle Jack had parked in front of it. He had been expecting Jack to come over, as both had no family, so that they could watch Christmas specials and eat take-out while monitoring the Rift in a comfortable and sensible location. Jack had arrived, but reeking and silent, merely handing Ianto the keys before heading into the shower. Unsure what had happened with John, he had gone to check out his car.

He needed a new one.

He stared at his car, the one possession that he had chosen for himself, and all he could see now was the impression of John's utter despair, Jack's desperation, and the lingering musk of death. One of his hands wavered over the driver's seat, as if feeling at an invisible body; he didn't dare lean in, unwilling to be comes trapped in whatever psychic residue John had left behind. The odour of the monoxide clung to the interior like rot, just as it clung to Jack, and in Ianto's opinion, seemed to make a mockery of the joyous nature of the season. He slammed the door.

Jack could buy him a new fucking car.

Jack was out of the shower when he returned inside, clean and fresh smelling, but still quiet and he silently watched as Ianto dug into the closet and threw clothes in his direction.

"I don't remember leaving stuff here," Jack cracked a weary smile and dressed, while Ianto closed the closet and leaned against it.

"You didn't," Ianto said. "I like to be prepared for anything." He narrowed his eyes. "But I wasn't ready for this. What happened with my car? Why does it smell like carbon monoxide?"

Jack sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Because that's how John committed suicide."

Ianto fixed is expression, giving nothing away.

"You found him?"

"I was there."

Ianto blinked at that; from Jack's guilt he would have assumed that his Captain had merely found the other man, but on finding out that John had actually killed himself in Jack's presence, he could see the weight that had settled around Jack's mouth and eyes and shoulders. Ianto wondered how close Jack had been to John when he had died, and if he needed to get the other man to a hospital or call Owen.

As he worried for his Captain something tickled at his mind, a flow of instances mostly forgotten as dismissible and unimportant when compared with resurrection gloves and alien invasions; like two separate splatter patterns where there should be only one, like being the only one immune to Carys' allure, like surviving Lisa's high voltage attacks.

A hundred little things that separately mean nothing, but together, could mean anything.

Like maybe he could trust Jack with his secrets after all.

He reached out a hand to his lover.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be," Jack mumbled, side stepping the outstretched hand.

"You reek Jack, not like someone who was outside, but like a man who was inside."

Jack shifted ground, not a retreat exactly, but finding his footing. "So what? What are you implying here?"

"Nothing, I'm not implying anything. I'm just worried--" Ianto started but Jack was already continuing.

"Because the way I see it, you have far more secrets here then I do, and I'd look to yourself before you start throwing stones."

"What?" he gasped.

Jack raised his head, looking defiant.

"You heard me. You're not exactly a well of honesty and information, Ianto. Who knows what else you're hiding. This trust thing," he gestured at the space between them, "it works both ways."

Every emotion that Ianto had been experiencing- worry, concern, fear, and affection- shut down. Eyes closed off, face shuttered, and his body became stiff like it was at the Hub, professional, fake, masked. This was his survival technique; Jack blustered and flirted and shouted, while Ianto became accommodating.

"Quite right sir," he said and leaned over to pick up the discarded clothing. "I shall leave you to get some rest, and just pop this quickly into the wash, perhaps they will be salvageable." He went to leave the room and Jack grabbed his arm.

"Ianto—"

Blank. "Did you need anything else?"

The blues eyes that watched him shifted, turning a deeper color as hurt and resignation filled them; Ianto merely watched back and gave nothing away.

He had already tried and had it thrown back in his face.

"No," Jack said and laid back on the bed, gaze fixed on Ianto, who had turned from him, unable to look at him.

"Then I'll get these sorted."

He started to leave when Jack's voice called him back.

"Ianto."

He felt the shirt tear beneath his fingers.

Unbidden came memories of the Tower, of being young and alone, and exchanging one set of captors for another, only these one wanted to take him apart to see how he worked. At this moment, with Jack so close to his hidden truths, Ianto felt like it was happening all over, that each one of Jack's words was a manipulation to dissect him and take his past. Because that was at the heart of Jack's words, and Ianto would be damned before he was manipulated into giving away his confidences.

And despite all he had done for Ianto, Jack had yet to earn them.

"I had thought better of you, then to try emotional blackmail to get what you want." He cast Jack a look over his shoulder, and let some of the emotions he was feeling to fill his eyes.

Jack flinched.

"Some things are gifts, Jack. They cannot be bought, coerced, or bribed." He turned away. "Torchwood has my loyalty. It does not have my trust."

He shut the door behind him.

Later, when Jack came from the bedroom dressed in the clothes Ianto had cleaned, he stood behind the couch where Ianto sat and watched Charlotte Church's Christmas special without sound with a cup of untouched coffee in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Jack said.

"That doesn't make right." Ianto answered.

He didn't turn from the screen until long after Jack had left.

* * *

my liberties? I think (in my crazy mind) that if Jack were to actually be involved in a realtionship, not just fucking, then he most likely would respect the other enough to not cheat. So for the upcoming Real Jack Harkness ep, I needed to give a reason for Jack to be so willing to just abandon the present so easily. Least that's how I rationalize it.

Could just be that angst is so fun.

Next: Combat


	12. Combat

**Manifest Destiny**

despite this actually being a kickass ep, I found myself blocked when writing it. Maybe my mind just wants to start pulling all the threads together.

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Combat

Ianto didn't know what exactly the weevils were, or where they came from, but knew that on some level they were sentient. At the edges of awareness he had always felt hem, tugging, but not intruding; he used his shield like a porcupine's quills and warned them from getting too close; from anyone getting close.

But this had been different. It hadn't been an attack or a query; it had been a plea.

He had been drawn down to the cells by the echoing cry as it had bounced off his mental shields, not strong enough to break through, but audible enough to get his attention. Pain and sorrow flowed off the weevil, and Ianto hadn't known how long he had been standing in front of the cell before he had roused himself long enough to contact Jack and alert him to the new development. That was the trouble with any empathic or telepathic gift, the danger of getting caught up and swept away on someone else's emotions.

His hearts broke a little at the mournful sound the weevil made.

That seemed like a lifetime ago, before Gwen had decided it would be alright to sneak a little retcon (as if he wouldn't notice), before Owen had decided to find Nirvana at the end of a weevil's claws, and before Jack had decided to take the weight of the recent events on himself and head to the roof to brood.

Usually he would brood in Ianto's bed, but they weren't doing that anymore.

Their relationship had hit an impasse, because neither one was willing to admit to a mistake, or take that first step to reconciliation; a reconciliation that they both wanted. There were times when he would look up and find Jack watching him, a look of regret in his eyes, and yet he never made a move.

On some level Ianto was grateful of the split, as it gave him the space to untangle his own feelings on the matter. From all that he had learned about relationships, at the core was trust, and Ianto didn't know yet if he trusted Jack. Oh he certainly trusted the Captain with the planet, with his life, and his body; but did he trust him with knowledge of what he was? There were times when Ianto had liked to think so, when he was mentally begging Jack to just outright ask him, instead of dancing around the words and the questions. When he wanted Jack to just take the choice from him, until all that was left was honesty.

Ianto was getting steadily sick of the lies.

Even his own.

But this was far more important than their relationship issues.

Ianto had waited until the others had gone and then made his way down into the lower levels, to the cells, and to the newly recaptured weevils. The weevil, Janet, stared at him through the clear wall of the holding cell and he could make out flecks on blood still around her mouth. He wasn't sure if it was hers (his?) or someone else's. He narrowed his eyes, focussing his mind like a needle, because overhanging each pulse of mental connection that flowed around the weevils was something else, something wrong, and it bothered him; it was like there was something riding underneath each wave, hiding, waiting.

Ianto knew that the weevil heard and understood him when it blinked.

Weevils don't blink.

"Do you know what it is, what's coming?" he asked, pressing his hand flat on the clear divider. The weevil tilted its head and continued to watch him, eyes peering back at him. It let out a soft and mournful wail. Ianto leaned in closer, the cool seeping through his suit, and pushed his entire mind at the weevil, hoping to reach it, hoping to be understood on some level.

"If you can't tell me, can you show me?"

The weevil backed up and let out a growl that sounded eerily like agreement.

It then threw it's body against the wall, once, twice, three times, and although the action had made Ianto back up in shock and horror, his mind was also able to piece together that each impact was shaping a rhythmic pattern.

_Thrumthrum-thrum-thrum-thrum_

He found himself backing away and towards the door as the other weevils began to take up the beat, and soon all the cells were taking up the same rhythm. The beats grew louder until it was like he was in the center of a giant drum, and the sounds began to invade him, and his mind rebelled. He knew this; he had heard this before, but where? _Where?!_ He tried to run but stumbled on the steps, and fell, and unwittingly found his hands closing over his ears.

"STOP!" he screamed, unable to take anymore, and the weevil's sudden stop made his head hurt more than the sound had.

Silence, save for his rasping breath.

He wasn't sure how long it was until he was able to pull himself up, reaching the Hub proper. He ran one hand over his face, wiping away the moisture, and he heard movement behind him. He felt a touch on his back and then, despite everything, he turned and folded himself into Jack's arms.

"Ianto, what is it?" Jack asked softly, resting his cheek against the younger man's, rubbing his back.

"I don't know," he whispered. He fisted his hands in Jack's coat.

"Jack," he gasped as the beat returned stronger than ever, and he moaned. "Jack."

Jack pulled back and looked alarmed.

"What is it?"

"It doesn't matter."

Jack pulled back and looked at Ianto, eyes searching. "What?" he whispered.

"In the end," Ianto continued, "it doesn't matter. I don't care if you lie, if you don't trust me, if this is all there is. I just..."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jack's, feeling them tremble beneath his, feeling Jack give in and pull him closer.

"I need you." Ianto told him.

Jack didn't question, but pulled Ianto towards his quarters, and Ianto grounded himself in Jack's touch.

He let Jack's pulse drown out the drums.

* * *

as I said, this one gave me trouble, but I love all the little hints that are in the actual series already, like when Mark says that "something's in the dark." And as the weevils are slightly empathic, I think that they'd be able to pick up the Archangel network easily.

Everything's coming together, maybe a bit too fast considering which eps we're on, but its all building up because if I were the Master, as soon as Jack was gone I'd make my move.

And I know the next will be angsty becaue, despite the real Harkness being an alright guy, Ianto is MY boy and always will be.

Next: Captain Jack Harkness


	13. Captain Jack Harkness

**Manifest Destiny**

wow, this first sequence of stories is winding down fast, and there's only one ep left until the Year. The plan is to finish the Torchwood sequence and then blend it into DW, but I think I'm gonna tweak canon a bit, and speed up the timeline.

This one was a toughy, emotionally for both boys, and I hope I did justice; Ianto was so mysterious and leaderish and kick ass and I loved him.

Hope mine's half as good.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Captain Jack Harkness

Ianto wonders if this is price for keeping secrets.

He feels like he is losing ground, like everything he and Jack and all of Torchwood has worked for is slipping away and that it is no one's fault but their own. Despite the risks, despite the obvious manipulation and warnings, Owen still opened the Rift. And while Ianto was beyond ecstatic to have Tosh and Jack back safe, he can feel the upset in the Rift, like a volcano about to go off, and the steady movement of time has never seemed more like a countdown then it does at this moment.

He looks up from where he's cleaning Owen's blood off the floor to see Jack still pacing in his office, though from his vantage it looks more like dancing as he can hear the strains of Glen Miller through the door. Tosh had told him everything about what had happened, about the fear and the bombs and about the real Jack Harkness. Ianto wasn't surprised; he knew that Jack's secrets most likely eclipsed his own, and this one is most likely the smallest of the bunch, and then he is struck by the thought of how surprised he is that Jack let Tosh remember that detail.

He's only a little ashamed that he thought it in the first place.

With a final grunt he finishes, but stills, staring unmoving at the slight stains on his bare fingers. He shot Owen, and no matter how many times he had thought of doing it, before, it was all in jest. This hadn't been. He had been driven by many things, desperation, fear, anger, and duty, and had done his best to follow his Captain's orders; but in the end it had been Owen himself that had finally let him pull the trigger.

It was ironic that Owen was the one who had seen Ianto at his most honest.

Teaboy and part-time shag.

He supposed it was only the last vestiges of Jack's regard, and Tosh's affection for the bastard, that kept him from making it a headshot. Or somewhere still fatal but infinitely more painful.

It would have been so easy.

But that isn't him.

Even though these days it seemed that it was.

The music stops suddenly and he raises his head to see that Jack in now watching him. The man is pale and is visibly hurting, and in spite of everything, it touches Ianto that Jack would let him see this. Ianto also finds it ironic that they can be honest with each other through touch, through emotion, but not through words; never through words.

He drops the rag and makes his way to Jack, and together they fall to the office floor, the metal cold on Ianto's rapidly bared skin, and he lets Jack take what he needs. It's not easy, it's not tender, but it is necessary; each touch of Jack's hands, each thrust into him, each gasped breath is more telling than any word or shed tear. Afterward Ianto had pulled Jack's greatcoat over them, it itches, but it's enough and Jack allows the illusion of cover. They lie together, and he traces the cracks on the ceiling with his eyes, counting down the minutes, waiting until Jack is ready to speak. Ianto can be patient.

"Tosh told you."

He nods. "Everything."

"You're not mad?"

"I think that at this moment there are more important things to be concerned with than your fidelity."

Jack stiffens, taking the statement one way or another, but Ianto doesn't elaborate.

With weary limbs (Owen may be a utter berk but the little shit can fight) he stands and starts to gather his clothes, wanting to get away from the Hub and shower, because he can already sense the tension building in the Rift, and he knows that the entire team will just be called back in a few hours if they're lucky; sooner if they're not. Jack merely watches him but something in it makes Ianto feels as if he's tearing the remaining pieces of Jack apart.

"You're leaving," Jack says. Ianto sighs.

"No Jack, it is you who will be leaving." Jack sprung to his feet, face like thunder.

"What does that mean?"

"Just what it sounds like."

Ianto turned to leave but Jack reaches out and grips his arm, holding it tightly, not letting him escape.

"Talk to me Ianto. Tell me what's wrong."

"You want to know what's wrong?"

"Yes."

"You would have stayed with him, there, in that time. You would have abandoned us."

Jack blinks.

"Not abandoned, Ianto. Gone maybe, but not abandoned, and not by choice."

Ianto studies him and can see the traces that the other man had left on his lover.

"You're a liar, Jack Harkness, but I love you anyway." He grins as Jack let go of his arm in shock, but it was a bitter twisting of lips that looked nothing like a smile. "More fool me."

"Ianto," Jack breathed.

"It's not like this is a relationship, Jack. Its need and comfort and lust and affection. And while it may not be a relationship," Ianto brushed a finger over Jack's lips. "it is real. Just like what you felt for him."

He steps away from Jack, eyes catching the light reflecting off the Rift pool.

"But that's the thing, Jack. You would have left us, left us to face whatever is to happen, because something is going to happen. Because we fucked up and will fuck up." He turns back to Jack, who is biting his lip, as if he is regretting asking for this, as if he prefers the lies. "We need you here with us, but right now, you're not. And you don't want to be."

Jack lets go of his arm and Ianto can already feel the rising bruising. "This wasn't meant to happen," he breathed. "None of this."

"No," Ianto says as he leaves the office, knowing already that it will most likely be the hour of respite, and no longer. "But it did. Figure out where you want to be, Jack. Because you're useless to us until you do."

He stops at the Cog door and presses his face against it, and each pulse of the Rift throws him off kilter.

"Because time is running out."

This is the price for secrets and Ianto is done paying it.

* * *

oh, little canon question; what ever happened to Bilis?

Next: End of Days


	14. End of Days

**Manifest Destiny**

final chapter of the season! I'm really pleased to get this far, and I hope you've all enjoyed the journey with me. Now, as I have three possible ways for this to continue (one kinda cracky, one really dark, and the other kinda a mix of the two) it may be awhile until the next segment starts. Hopefully not too long, but we'll see.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: End of Days

Ianto was a Gallifreyan, a Time Lord, and the ebb and flow of time was like the beating of his hearts; soothing, continuous, and a certainty.

Apparently Jack was a certainty as well.

Torchwood Three was empty, the others gone to the Himalayas (he was the Teaboy, why would he go?) and Myfanwy safely away. He was alone.

He ran his fingers over the open morgue drawer, the cold that seeped into him merely adding to the cold that was already inside him. It had been Jack's. Even though more than a week had passed, he could still see his lover as he lay in death; gray and still, when Captain Jack Harkness was never still, and he remembered the anger when Gwen had refused to leave his side; didn't she have her own lover to attend to? Did she care for Jack as much as he did, or was to guilt for causing this that kept her glued to his side? And really, Ianto reminisced, what would he have done; it's not like he could have shared one of his regenerations with the other man. For humans, even one as extraordinary as Jack Harkness, dead meant dead. Except when it didn't. Except when it came to Jack Harkness. Trust the man to be extraordinary in all things.

And now he was gone, vanished.

With the Doctor.

He remembered the noise and how it rang through his very core in the aftermath of Canary Warf, like a haunting siren song that called to him to get up and leave everything and follow it to the horizon. It had felt like home, like all that he had been missing, but he had turned away. Knowing what he did, and what he heard about the Doctor, he can't fault Jack for leaving. After all the entire team had basically betrayed the man, and he knew that that had to hurt the man, and while he wanted to believe that it was simply their actions that caused his departure, Ianto knew it wasn't. The others had gone for coffee, but he had slipped away and returned to the Hub alone, and had stood at the edge of the Plass and watched Jack race towards the blue box, running as if the hounds of hell were on his tail, as if he was running towards his future; as if he was moving forwards to everything he's ever wanted. Box and Captain vanished and Ianto had entered the Hub, absentmindedly cleaning as he went.

"_Jack's gone, something's taken him." Gwen, desperate, looking at the CCTV and unwilling to accept the facts as they are._

"_He went willingly," his voice soft, but so sure, and it drew the other's attention to him._

"_He wouldn't just leave us!"_

_He just looked at Tosh and she started the footage again, and as one they watched Jack run, run away from them. He took her hand underneath the desk. Oh Cariad, he thought; he was your stability too._

"_Look, Gwen! Look at his face! Does he look like a man who's being kidnapped?" Harsh words, but he wasn't Jack; he wouldn't coddle her._

"_But why?" she whispered. "Why would he leave?"_

"_Perhaps he had no reason to stay," Tosh's soft and hurt voice. He held her hand tighter._

_Owen, angry, hurt, and defensive. "I guess you weren't that great of a shag then, eh Teaboy?"_

_With anger in his eyes he had turned to Owen and said, "It wasn't my gun that killed him."_

_To say that conversation hadn't ended well would have been an understatement; Owen had jumped him and, for once holding nothing back, Ianto had pinned him easily to the ground, applying pressure to his shoulder in just the right spot. Tosh had stayed back, but Gwen had squawked until Ianto, past his threshold, had spat out, "He never wanted to be here in the first place; look at the records, he was just killing time! You want him back, so do I, but he wanted to go and we have a job to do so we should fucking do it!" _

_They had stared at him in silence, and he let Owen go with trembling hands, and as he backed away from them he began to shake. "I don't think he's coming back. He found his Doctor."_

_Gwen, the only one beside him who understood, had sunk into a chair and finally accepted. Tosh had already begun to move to her computer, tracking the still hiccupping Rift, and it was Owen who moved to Ianto._

"_We just got him back," Owen said in a harsh whisper that held all the pain Ianto knew he had been feeling._

"_I know," Ianto said._

_And that had been their reconciliation._

_Torchwood had continued on, without their Captain, and Ianto took on most of Jack's administrative duties (no one else knew how or wanted to as they were field agents and he was admin)which is why he was the one to notice what had been happening. _

He stepped out of the morgue and into the Hub, moving to Jack's office. Laid out on the desk were photos and reports, puzzle pieces that he had been painstakingly putting together over the last two weeks, and as the election was only two days away he knew his time was up. He ran his fingers over CCTV stills of images citing VOTE SAXON, over polling info that was inexplicable at first but showed a steady rise of just how the election would go, and his informant (lovely woman) had gotten him the information on Lucy and Harold Saxon. Lucy hadn't caught his attention; Saxon had.

The first clear image that Ianto had seen of the man had sent chills up his spine and he remembered; a night in the country and the man who had come to him, a voice on the phone and the knowledge it held, both times curious and cautious and affectionate when there had been to cause. His fingers trembled as they ran over the stolen report, a police report, that gave accounting of a vivisected body that had been found, one that had been too mangled to make a clear identity recovery, even though the lower half of the man's jaw had been found near the site. The site had only been several miles from the Beacons and the cleanup had been too polished to have been leftover from the cannibals. He remembered the men who looked like police but hadn't moved like them. He felt the shaking increase as he recalled the sensation that had come over him after that, the feeling that had grown around Christmas and when the Archangel network had gone up, the itching flashes of being watched and followed that faded with the same speed that they had come.

The Archangel Network.

Ianto had seen for the last while the bouts of movement in his and his coworkers fingers, the sudden burst of tapping, the rhythm that he was beginning to know very well. He had caught glimpses of each of them being followed as they left the Hub, had seen the men tail them everywhere, anyplace.

Which was when he had begun to plan.

The phone rang and he answered it.

"Clever Ianto, always so clever. You've made me proud." Saxon chuckled. "And sending your _teammates_ away? Brilliant! I wonder if you knew what I'd do to them if I found them..."

Saxon paused.

"But of course, soon it won't matter where you sent them."

"They are out of range, and no danger to your plans. Why continue to go after them?"

Saxon's voice was dangerous. "Because they hurt you."

Ianto blinked. "What?"

"Did you think I wouldn't know? Wouldn't care? _Teaboy, part-time shag, fuck-toy;_ invisible servant cleaning up their shit." The other man growled. "Oh, how I owe the freak."

"Who are you?" Ianto hissed, body trembling, hearts pounding, because he knew; like a kindled spark in him, he knew who this was. Drums and watches and the darkness had told him.

"I think you know, Ianto."

Dimly he heard the Lift engage, dimly he heard the phone fall, everything had become dim as the drums now overtook him. A hand was placed on his face, turning his head to look into bright and burning and mad eyes that, although hidden from him for so long, he now recognized.

"Father," he whispered.

"My son," Saxon said and grinned.

And then Ianto began to know the reason for his mother's caution, for her fear.

And Ianto prayed for Jack.

* * *

alright, I think I've said everything I need to say at the start of this. So, review. Reviews will help me write, and as I said at the begining (3 plots!) the more reviews the faster it will come!

Next: The Year that Never Was aka stuff from Doctor Who season 3.


	15. Interlude One

Interlude One

The Master

He watched the screens before him, watched the unconscious man (no, boy, still a boy) as he lay on the table, watched the machines beep as they kept him under sedation. He raised a hand and traced the image with a finger, over the distinctive features, and he saw himself in them, as he was several regenerations past. Save for the eyes, his son bore more resemblance to him then to his mother.

Romana.

_It had been just after the fiasco in Medieval Europe, and though the Doctor had made off with Kamelion, the Master was already planning on how to use that to his advantage. He had found himself at a small outpost somewhere, the only location where he could obtain a certain volatile mineral, when he had heard the voice of a young woman raised in anger, and then the hum of what could only be a sonic screwdriver. That alone should have been enough of a warning, but she had after all allowed him to collect his treasure without detection, so he had felt that she at least deserved a few minutes of his attention. He had been surprised to see that she was a Time Lady, relatively attractive (as if he had time for such things) and that she was in dire straits with only what looked like a homemade sonic to defend her. That alone should have been enough to deter him, as she had clearly been in contact with the Doctor at some point. But on the other hand, that could be a boon..._

_And he never knew when to leave well enough alone._

_He had helped her, they had fled the outpost, and ended up on a more extravagant station, and after a few drinks, had ended up sharing a bed. It the midst of all his grand plans, he supposed that it was a minor hit on the Doctor (who __**cared**__ for all his companions, past and present) but at the time it was more for him then for the act of revenge._

_Perhaps that is why the encounter led to the creation of the one thing in the universe to hold his heart. _

He moved from the screens and turned them off, for even though he was lord here, he didn't trust this great secret to anyone.

At least not yet.

He bounded down the staircase, tapping the rhythm out on the walls and the banister, running plan after plan through his head. Oh what he would do to Torchwood Three when he found them' his son my be clever (oh yes he was!) but his father more so, and his father could wait. With a cheeky smile on his face he imagined them. The doctor would suffer, horribly, maybe castrated, maybe forced to make tea in that state all bloodstained and naked, showing his shame to all who could see, or just have him boiled alive in a vat of it. The little Asian would be quick, she was smart and clever and had showed his son respect; but that didn't mean he would spare her, no, it just meant she would die quickly. Executed, perhaps. The Welsh bitch would suffer, though, for her pride, for her arrogance and emotional righteousness; not just for his son, but for the Captain as well, as she was one of the Freak's favourites.

He stopped and growled, anger a dark blaze in his eyes.

The Freak, oh what he would do to the Freak, for making his son a whore! And as the man couldn't die, he could it over and over, until forever, as his anger would never be satisfied when it came to this. When it came to his son. His precious little son.

_It had been by chance, after the fiasco with the Dead Zone and Rassilon, that while on Gallifrey he heard rumour about Romana, about how she had forsaken the great labs and sciences of her home to isolate herself on some backward world on the edge of the galaxy. Intrigued he had sought her out, wondering what could have affected her so, that she would abandon the work of nigh 300 years. Stepping out onto the grass covered field hadn't revealed the reason, seeing her little nook hadn't, and even seeing the woman himself hadn't revealed it._

_Until he had seen the little boy that clung to her leg and looked up at him with wide and unsure eyes._

_Recognition and realisation came swiftly and, after she had urged the boy to go and play, she had pulled him aside with anger and fear on her face._

"_I know who you are and what you've done. You've achieved your aims; your actions are nefarious among our people. You bring destruction and death with you. I want you to go."_

"_Are you sure you're not getting me confused with someone else?" He asked, one dark brow raised and she had the grace to avert her eyes. She knew, of course she knew; she had traveled with him after all, and seen all that occurred in his wake. "Besides, why should I go?"_

_He paused and watched the little boy, and he knew that his eyes had softened in a telling gesture._

"_He's mine, after all."_

He slammed his fist into a nearby window, shattering it. That's right, the boy is mine, and Harkness would suffer for daring to lay hands on him. He shook off the slivers and continued on his way. After all, he reasoned, hadn't he made Torchwood One pay for his son's suffering? Hadn't he (after finding the classified files on every sick thing they had subjected his boy to, every experiment, every torture) hinted to the right people, lead in the right direction, towards their destruction? He knew as soon as he had seen the orb that it would be easy to make them suffer for their actions.

Just like he had made the Time Lords.

_On agreement he wouldn't stay, but as long as he behaved, he could visit. Knowing that the boy had spent the formative years in the care of his mother he knew that removing him would only upset the lad, and so let him stay. Each visit had him telling stories and knowledge to his son, and he was filled with pride when those blue eyes lit up with intelligence and excitement at all his father gave him. He knew, that in time, his son would be magnificent._

_And then the Time War._

_He had come to find the home abandoned, broken, and the lingering stench of a chained Tardis in the air. They had left a message, basically stating that he and Romana had been drafted into Gallifreyan service and that they must serve their planet, and should he refuse, think on what was at stake._

_His son._

_Oh, the rage that filled him. How dare they ransom his son! How dare they take him!_

_It was at that moment that he had begun to plan, a long term plan that he had already set in motion, and just needed adjustment._

_The war came, the Daleks came, and while he did fight on the Time Lords behalf he waited for the right moment. The moment came when he was meant to head up the strong defence, his tactical knowledge and berserker rage the pivotal key in the Time Lords strategy against the wave of Daleks. At that moment he activated the Tardis, reconfigured of course, and following the tracing system he had installed in the watch he had gifted his son with, he left them. It would have been a massacre._

_He had laughed._

_But then the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm, had decided to fuck up the time lines and burn them all out of some foolish suicide bid. He screamed for the first time, not for himself, but for his son, his defenceless boy. Yet, even as their race burned, he knew that his son lived and had escaped; he knew it._

_And so he had to as well._

_The Chamelion Arch rewrote him, and underneath each line of transfigured dna, wrote into him a single desire that beat through him like a drum: survive, survive, find his boy, and survive._

_He had, as Yana, and he did. And stealing the Doctor's Tardis brought him here, to Earth 21__st__ Century, and to his son._

He found Lucy (a makeshift wife, companion, and mother, perfectly crazy but pliable) and danced her around as his little friends cleared the building for them, so that he could remove his son in secret and take him to the Valiant. It was all coming together perfectly, because of course the Doctor will intervene, and bring the Jones and the Freak, and then everything will be perfect.

He needed to test it first, after all.

He spun Lucy away and moved to the window and gazed out at the world, his world and smiled.

Once, he had promised his son the universe.

He always kept his word.

* * *

sorry its been so long, I've been sick, getting ready for school, and my roomate was in the hosptial. So: Stress!

But, I need an outlet, so I've pushed myself and whipped out a chapter. I'll try to get the other interludes out, which will lead to the Year arc, which will lead to season 2.

That's the plan.

Next: Interlude 2 - Jack


	16. Interlude Two

okay, this kinda got away from me and turned into a whole 'nother thing. I like it, but its so not what I set out to do.

I'm going by memory the DW events for this one, so if they're wrong (mixed order) I apologize.

* * *

Interlude Two: Jack

He watches the scene before him, and something inside writhes in confusion and anger and fear.

He doesn't admit to weakness's often, but at this moment, he's scared.

He had always known that Ianto was special, and not just because of his wonderful coffee, vowels, and arse.

Those were bonuses.

No, it had been something in the way that the brave, foolish boy kept pushing where he obviously wasn't wanted, demanding a job when he still reeked of the blood of Torchwood One's fallen. It had been in the way that he had wriggled his way into the depths of Torchwood Three, like a worm in an apple, and laid a secret in Jack's house; it had been in the way that the child had managed to completely con the conman. It had been in the way that that same boy had also wormed himself into the conman's heart (despite both their wishes) and bed (wish come true), touching something that he had long since closed off.

It had been in the double beating hearts in a chest that had often pressed against his own.

Ianto was special because he shouldn't be.

Ianto was special because he shouldn't exist.

He had believed the Doctor when he had said (when it was just the three of them, him and the Doctor and Rose, so young and happy) that he was the only Time Lord left alive after the War, the only survivor of a magnificent race. Which was why, when he felt a double heart beat where one shouldn't exist, he had never mentioned anything; he wasn't sure if it would have been real or just some twisted fragment of his mind, longing for another Timelord, or simply broadcasting rationalization for his feelings for Ianto. Besides, wouldn't he look foolish, demanding answers to a reality that didn't truly exist.

Now he wished that he had.

He stands with the Doctor and Martha, and it is only her hand on his arm that holds him back, and his on the Doctor's that hold him back, and he thinks that it is only the danger that stops her from running to her family as they're bundled off and onto the Valiant. Their enemy looks forbidding and gleeful in his dark clothes (lovely suit, try not to think of another who wore one just as well, or better) and laughs in a voice that he recognizes, and curses himself for not figuring it out sooner; after all, how many times had they spoken on the phone?

Harold fucking Saxon, Minister of Defence now turned Prime Minister.

Jack's not scared, he's fucking frightened.

This man would have most likely had surveillance on the Hub, watching him , watching the for the Doctor and his departure. This man would have known when he left, would have known when his team would have been alone, and would have struck out at them. For the first time, he truly regrets leaving them (well, he regrets leaving them like he did, the Doctor has the worst timing) and wonders what they thought, how they acted, and if they're alright. The Hub, and the Rift, have built-in blockers, so the pulse of the Archangel network wouldn't have saturated them as thickly as it would have the rest of Britain; if they suspected Saxon at all, and disbelieved the alert about him, they would have done something. But no one had answered his call, both at the Hub and on their private numbers. Even Ianto, his steady and constant and ever prepared Ianto, hadn't answered; which was when he had truly begun to fear.

Had he left them, at the discretion of this madman, to die?

Yet, in the call, Saxon hadn't boasted about death, had merely said that he had sent them away, and Jack didn't know what to think; his team wouldn't have gone, especially after his disappearance (about a week he guessed, trying to recall election day) and defiantly not after Abbadon. So he wonders if his team is dead, and their bodies hidden away until the moment when best to taunt him with; for if Saxon did have them, surely he would bring them out to taunt him with, like he had Martha with her family, like the Doctor and his memories, like he had on the phone.

He's angry and afraid and not made for inaction.

But the Doctor stills them for the moment.

So they wait and watch as more vans come, loading supplies, loading items that look alien and foreign , and the Doctor mutters names under his breath for each foreign part. Jack pulls Martha close as she is shaking, trembling in fear for her family, and then it is his turn to shake as a different kind of vehicle pulls up and unloads a different kind of item. The first look has him shaking, and he longs to move, to run, to draw his gun and gather and protect.

He barely feels the Doctor's hand tightening on his arm, barely hears the quiet "It's not possible!" as his attention is locked solely on the one before him.

Ianto.

His lover lies on a gurney as if dead, but Jack can see the chest move, and unconsciously matches each taken breath. He sees no wounds, no injuries, just small bits of machinery that he assumes is keeping the other asleep and harmless. His hands itch to go and brush the slight curling strands away, to touch the face he knows so well, and he is unable to stop one from reaching out, fingers stretched out and yearning.

And then Saxon steps forward and does so, in a gesture that tells of an intimacy and knowledge that make Jack's hackles rise. He watches Saxon lean down and whisper something to the unconscious Ianto, a dark smile hovering on their enemy's lips, and as he straightens he tidy's the prone man's clothes. Jack notices that they're wearing similar suits, and for one second he's struck by a thought, absurd, but insistent.

Saxon's hands on Ianto aren't sexual.

"It can't be," the Doctor breathes beside him, watching the scene just as avidly as he is.

"Doctor, what is it?" Martha hisses.

Before the Doctor can speak the action picks up, Saxon steps away, and keeps his eyes locked on the people who move the gurney up and into the transport to the Valiant. Once the area is cleared and the transport leaves, he finally turns away, and the sound of more vehicles can be heard. He begins to walk towards them but slows, and almost pauses where the three of them huddle, praying that the perception filters are keeping them hidden. To Jack it is almost like Saxon can see them, his eyes piercing through and baiting them, playing with them like a cat with mice, and it is still not the time for him to pounce. His eyes are dancing, saying "Yes" and hiding and revealing secrets, and Jack knows that they all surround Ianto. Ianto, who is now in the belly of the beast.

Jack lets out a breath as Saxon turns and moves away, but the Doctor is more tense and pale, and falls against them as they make their to a more secure location. Jack is pacing, burning with energy, while the Doctor is now the silent one, pensive. Martha watches them both.

"The man, on the gurney, who was he?" she asks.

"Ianto," he says. "My Ianto."

"Your Ianto?" The Doctor's voice is soft. Jack stops and stares at him.

"He works at Torchwood." He sees the Doctor flinch. "He runs administration and makes coffee."

He's mo lover, he doesn't say.

"But didn't you say Saxon sent them away?" Martha, perceptive Martha says. "Why would he keep your receptionist?"

"Because he's more than that," the Doctor whispers. Suddenly Jack is pinned by two blazing eyes. "Isn't he, Jack?"

"You tell me, Doc." Jack doesn't want to ask, but he has to; he has to put in words what he knows, what he had always suspected, and as his lover is with Saxon, what he now fears. "Tell me how much more he is."

"He should be impossible."

Jack grins, though it is not one his lover would have recognized. "So am I, yet, here I am."

"Stop it," Martha demands, breaking between them, the tension fading as they focus on her. "We don't have time for all this posturing! Just, speak plain. Who is he?"

The Doctor's voice is soft.

"He's a Timelord."

"But you said," she begins but stops herself, remembering. "The Face of Boe, he said that 'you are not alone'. I thought he meant Saxon."

"Obviously not."

" Doctor," Jack says. "Saxon was treating him like...a treasure, like something precious. Why?" But he knew, he guessed, he just needed confirmation.

"There were rumours ," the Doctor sighs and rubs his head, and cannot meet Jack's eyes. "That he had a child. That he had a son."

Jack's fists clench. He always knew that Ianto was special.

But now, god, how he wishes he wasn't.

"But that means, if this guy is his son, that he's safe right?" She looks at Jack, trying to project reassurance. "He wouldn't hurt his own son."

Jack turns his own beseeching look on the Doctor. "How safe is Ianto with him?"

The Doctor turns away, eyes looking out, burdened with knowledge that he doesn't want and can't escape.

"At this moment he is the safest he's ever been, and in the most danger."

* * *

of course Ianto's not safe, he has a madman for a father!

I think that next will be either Martha or one of the Torchwood gang, as the events slowly (I know) unfold to the Year, as the Master hasn't pulled his paradox machine yet.

I'll write again soon!


	17. Interlude Three

Interlude Three: Torchwood Three

She held the directions that Ianto had given them in one hand, not caring how the paper ripped and crumpled in her fist, and forced her breathing to remain steady. At her side she could sense Gwen shaking as she held her own note, thrown by whatever the absent man had written to her; Owen, dour and selfish Owen, had read his and immediately burned it, before turning to them and telling them to do the same. Finally he just grabbed the notes and did it himself, before stalking off into the building, the only one of them to show the least unease. In retrospect she shouldn't have been that surprised when they had arrived at the abandoned inn, for even though they had traveled in a different direction, she had recognized the land. She could never forget it, and really, who would ever expect them to return to this particular site.

Brecon Beacons.

Ianto had sent them here, written the directions in secret words and turns that had them traveling unpaved roads and doubling backing, and basically creating so many false leads that she cursed herself for not realising what he had been doing. If she checked she knew that she would find that he would have also created other false journeys, other alibis for them; she knew that if they tried to contact the Hub there would be no answer.

"What did Ianto write?" she asked Gwen as the other woman came up beside her, still trembling, but more composed.

"He gave me the location of a cache of weapons," Gwen said. " Weapons that he said that he had taken from Torchwood One and brought here." She shivered. "He said that they're here. That he brought them to this place, the cellar. What would he do that?" She turned to Tosh. "He said that he would send Rhys away, that he would make sure Rhys would be safe." Her voice wavered. "Tosh?"

Tosh worried her lip. "Mine was, well, a bit more personal. He wrote that he had left a chest here, filled with equipment he had also taken from Torchwood One, that this place was hidden by a reconfigured perception filter, a large one, and that we should be safe here." She took a breath, and moved towards the Inn. "He apologized for not being able to come with us. He said it would make it worse."

"What does that mean?" Gwen asked as she followed the other woman inside.

"Well, why don't you ask him?"

They turned to Owen who was standing by a small setup of monitors, of computers, and Tosh was struck by how focused it was, how prepared Ianto had been. The largest screen blinked, a message was waiting to be played, and she knew that she didn't want to see it, didn't want that certainty and acknowledgment that something was happening too fast for them to stop, too fast for them to be ready for, save Ianto.

Ianto was ready for anything.

As she moved to start the message she heard Gwen ask Owen about his note, what Ianto had written him , but Owen just shook his head, face darkening, and Tosh fleetingly thought that it was regret, sorrow, and wasn't that strange. She pressed the button and Ianto's face filled the screen, Ianto's voice filled the Inn.

"Well, if you're watching this then everything's gone to hell. Standard for us, isn't it? I suppose that I should be sorry that you're here, that you're watching this, but, really, it is almost a certainty that the other option would be death, so I'm really not." The man on the screen took a breath, visibly strengthening himself. "And rest assured I wouldn't be telling you this if the world was most likely not going to be ending very soon. Well, here it is."

Ianto looked out and seemed to reach each of them.

"I'm an alien. And don't smirk Owen, despite what you may say, it wasn't that obvious."

"I would have leaned more towards robot, myself," Owen muttered but she noticed it lacked hostility.

Ianto shook his head, and even through the screen, Tosh could feel his uncertainty in speaking this aloud.

"There's something coming, something...that is dangerous for you, should it find you. I won't go into everything, but," he stopped and raised haunted eyes to them. "I think that it's my father."

"Come on mate," Owen laughed sickly. "This is too Star Wars for me."

One of the computers came to life, spewing up file after file from UNIT, dating back to the 70's, and Tosh quickly found the common thread of all the incidents.

A man called the Master. A violent and clever man, a man who had tried to destroy the world several times before. A man that Ianto was now claiming was his father.

Tosh read over them quickly, and somehow found herself relaxing slightly, as whenever the Master showed the Doctor was soon behind. And Jack was with him now.

They wouldn't be alone in this. Good.

On screen Ianto was continuing.

"I always knew that he wasn't a nice man, but, he had limits. He may be a cruel and vindictive man, but he wasn't insane." Ianto took in sharp breath, and for the first time Tosh noticed that he kept raising one hand to his face, rubbing over his nose, as if fighting off a headache and when he spoke it sounded slurred, uneven,. "But that's changed."

He focused his attention on the message he was relaying again.

"He's wrong. There was a war, a Time War, and it must have damaged him somehow, because he was never like this. He was never this bad!" Ianto's raised voice caused the three of them to jump. The figure on screen slumped further. "I've left schematics and systems and the filter so that you'll remain hidden, and if there's any questions, Tosh, look in the second floor bedroom. Look in the chest. It'll tell you everything I can't. I'm sorry."

"Stop," Gwen breathed. "Stop Ianto, this sounds like goodbye."

From the look on Owen's face he agreed.

"I won't apologize for anything I've done; survival causes actions and regret, but, I don't regret coming to Cardiff. I don't regret knowing you. But, if this fails, I regret not being able to save you. If you die...it'll be my fault. Gwen, Rhys will be safe. I swear it. Owen, you have everything you need should things go wrong." He cracked a smile. "And they will." He took another breath.

"Tosh," Ianto said. "Tosh, be smart, be clever, be yourself. The system I set up is beyond Earth's, beyond Torchwood, built with all the knowledge I gained from my mother and my father, and their people. Don't use your phones, I made new ones with untraceable connections. Track the Archangel Network, track Saxon. Do not trust UNIT. Be strong, I have faith in you." The man managed a smile and Tosh didn't resist the urge to reach out to his image. "I read the files. Where the Master is, the Doctor follows, so you'll have him. And if Jack is with him...you'll be fine. Good luck Torchwood Three."

The screens darkened.

The three stood in silence.

"Fucking teaboy," Owen cursed. "Fucking stupid..." He slammed a fist on the table and stormed out of the Inn. Gwen stepped over and fiddled with the screen, until the news came on. Tosh ran up the stairs and to the bedroom.

A chest was center floor, lid unlatched, and she went to it, pulling envelope after envelope out. They were labelled, concise organized Ianto, and when she had pulled them all out she opened the one that read Torchwood. It was from Ianto's time with Torchwood One, and looked to be his complete medical files. She didn't notice the passing of time as she read through each file.

What she read made her cry.

She had lifted the last envelope when Gwen's loud voice rang out, "Jack's on TV!" and then the loud "OMIGOD!" and as she ran down the stairs she heard tiny screams from the TV and then Owen's loud cursing from outside. She ran into Gwen on the way, who was yelling, "Saxon's just killed the President! We have to--"

She broke off as they stepped outside and saw, in the sky, coming like a plague, a dark and glittering cloud.

"We do what Ianto wanted us to," Owen said, gaze focused on the sight before them. "We wait." He clenched his fists until blood began to drip. "We survive."

Gwen went back in, trying to stifle her sobs, as Saxon (no, the Master) proclaimed that his little friends kill off 10 of the world's population, as the Doctor was aged to uselessness before them, as Jack was killed (again) and his body was dragged off screen.

Tosh held open her hand and shook open the last envelope, causing a small item to fall out, fitting into her palm easily. She looked outside one last time, at the sky as it filled with dark shapes that squealed and laughed and brought death, and turned inside. In her hands was a small cylinder looking thing, what the note said was a sonic screwdriver, and that it was a handy thing to have.

The fact that he had left it to them made her more frightened than any other thing. But he had left it with them for a reason, and she swore that she would figure it out.

She would not fail him.

* * *

Wow! Three in as many hours!

Okay, I know that this messes with the timeline (as Martha's will back up to the action on board the Valiant) and add Ianto stuff, but I felt that we should know what the others were up to.


	18. YTNW One

Alright, here begins the middle ground, the real chapters, and the continuing story. I figured the interludes can keep everyone up to date on what the other characters (Matha, T3) are doing while the other chapters or Valiant chapters.

I'm not going to apologize that this one was shorter then my usual fare, because, it so had to end right there.

**Manifest Destiny**

* * *

Year That Never Was: One

He had done it. He had won.

The earth was his, his dominion was absolute, fear of him so far-reaching that none would dare oppose him. The fact that the little Jones got away was insignificant; let her try to stop him. He would find her eventually.

He would find everyone eventually.

The Doctor, diminished, a feeble old man who was now a lovely novelty piece.

The Freak, oh yes, the freak now in his possession to do everything, anything, to.; and he would, oh he would.

But now, for now, he would deal with what really needed to be dealt with. He glanced around him, and nodded his head towards Lucy, who quietly left the room, already trembling, and he smiled.

Later, he thought as he stood on the bridge of the Valiant, he would find a suitable place to store the freak for later amusements, but at that moment...let the Doctor watch. Let the Doctor see. He looked down at the area below him, where two of his men had tied Harkness to the conference table, where they had positioned the Doctor directly before the scene, where they had placed a tray with the most interesting of implements. The Jones family stood at the side, fearful, wary, but they would get such a show.

"Well," he exclaimed, snapping his hands together and rubbing them, "I think that this is long overdue." He jumped the stairs, landing on a half turn, and sauntered up to the Captain. There was a smile on his face (the one that got him elected) but his eyes were black pits of hate, and he grinned to see Harkness flinch back from him. "And I think you can guess how much I'm going to enjoy this."

He raised one item from the tray (shiny and pointed, and ooh, jagged so lovely) and positioned it above the freak's hand. Tendons were so tender, after all.

"Do you really think your son will forgive you for what you're about to do?" The Doctor's soft whisper of a voice came and the Master stilled, but still held the blade to the skin. "If he knew what kind of a monster you can be?"

"Going to be telling tales, Doctor? Tut tut. But, I had wondered if you ever knew." He paused and licked his lips. "I wondered if you had ever had her as well. For such a stiff bitch she was lovely wanton in bed."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed, still holding some power within. "Do not speak of her that way."

"Why not? It bothers you so, and that makes me," he flicked his wrist and a thin line of blood welled up on Harkness's flesh, "happy." Another. "Content." Another. "Estatic."

Glorious.

The Jones family looked terrified, horrified, and the daughter, Latisha, had her hand pressed to her mouth to keep from crying out.

Harkness had bitten through his lip, not making a sound yet, but it was still early. The Doctor looked like he was struggling to find a way of distracting the Master from his task, but to no avail.

He had been waiting too long for this.

"What would he say if he knew what you were doing to his lover," the Doctor pleaded as more and more blood appeared, the Master slowly working his way up one arm, not wanting the Captain to bleed out until it got really exciting.

"I think that he wouldn't say anything," the Master smiled through gritted teeth (bone was such a problem) as Harkness finally let out a quiet moan. "The freak here abandoned him, for you so don't you feel special, so I rather think he'd be in this position enjoying this as much as I am." He leaned down and whispered in the man's ear, "He must have been so desperate to allow a thing like you to touch him."

Deeper cuts.

A door opened and Lucy returned, wheeling a chair that would soon become the Doctor's, but that was now filled with a still form, apparently asleep, as the eyes were shut and the breathing deep.

Harkness gasped through pained breaths. "Ianto-"

The violence of the Master's first blow broke the Captain's jaw.

"NO! You don't speak, you don't get to say his name! Do you know how long I watched, how long I waited, putting each piece into place until I could come for my boy? Only to have you, Freak, swagger in and take my son and turn him into nothing more than your Teaboy! YOUR WHORE! I had to see you, hear you, fucking him and making him nothing more than a slut in your bed, one more notch, one more hole to use! You made him less than he is; you made MY SON nothing!"

Each strike with either blade or fist was coming faster and faster, and the Doctor, watching aghast, knew that the Master would shortly beat Jack to death, bleed him out, and then be able to do it again and again when he came back to life. At this point Jack couldn't even make a sound, so near death was he, and the Doctor shuddered to see the horrific blood-stained grin the Master gave him as Jack finally died on the table.

"See?" Although his voice was jovial, rage still burned darkly in those mad eyes. "Now that was fun."


	19. YTNW Two

OKAY! After everyone's lovely comments (I squeed-I swear!) I broke away from my studies to write the next chapter. I know its been awhile (blame full course load of writing courses) but I hope that the same spirit will be found in this chapter as in previous ones.

Warnings? Um, a bit dark but none really. Enjoy!

**Manifest Destiny**

* * *

Year That Never Was: Two

Ianto surfaced into hell.

Pain and fear and anger and despair wrapped around his awakening consciousness, and he whimpered against the onslaught even as he came aware that they weren't his. He was numb, even though it was fading, and couldn't help shaking as he recognized the familiarity under the agony.

Jack.

A hand was rubbing over his face, and through the lessening fog he felt the tender stroke against his skin. The touch was gentle, soothing, and he leaned into it, and let his lashes flutter against the palm as he eyes fought to open. Maybe he had been injured, maybe that was why he was so lost, why Jack was being so tender. His breath sped up as they fought to focus, and with each intake he feel a cold pit form in his hearts. The scent wasn't Jack. The hand did not belong to his lover, but was familiar to him all the same.

Ianto was afraid to open his eyes.

Like the terrors that that hover and overcome in the dead of night he knew that he really didn't want to know what he would see should he open them; he knew it would be bad. He knew it.

With his father it couldn't be anything but.

Awareness had come slowly as the drugs faded, and had crept in first with the lesser senses. He woke to the scent of thick iron scent of blood, of burned flesh. He was sinking beneath the weight, even as he rose to the surface, and it washed over him with each shallow breath. He woke to the sound of pain, the slow groans of agony that only the dying managed, the winded gasp that spoke of damaged lungs and the bubbled breath the spoke of internal bleeding. His body was stiff and cold and tingled with the receding clutch of paralysis, and his knew that his head lolled slightly, even if he still couldn't exactly feel it. His own mouth was thick and tacky with the aftermath of the drugs his father used, had perfected to a degree that made sure that Ianto would only awake when his father wanted him to.

It was Canary Warf all over again.

"Open your eyes," came a whisper against his ear. "Open your eyes, little boy. Don't you want to see the present your father got for you? Don't you want how much he loves you, Ianto?"

He couldn't help but be coaxed by the voice, soft like syrup, and felt his eyes slip open.

Lucy Saxon smiled like a child at him, blank eyes twinkling in her pale face, and it was the complete lack of maliciousness that made his heart speed up with fear. She believed in his father, the Master, her master, and that was dangerous. She was dressed in red and his eyes were still blurred, which was why it took so long for Ianto to figure out that the mass of red in his vision wasn't just her. The space behind her was a striking and vibrant red, the blood still fresh, in the midst of it lay a twitching body. As his vision cleared he made out much loved dark hair (matted with red), tanned skin (some untouched, god, some still untouched), and as a bouncing dark figure moved away from the table he could see the blue, his blue, and no (No!).

Jack.

Ianto heard the keen that escaped his lips, low and haunting, but couldn't turn his head away from Jack's, even as the light behind his lover's faded.

_You were gone, you should have been gone and safe with the Doctor. Why did you have to come back?_

He was vaguely aware that he was moving an arm, a hand, fingers outstretched towards his lover. He was vaguely aware of his now clear vision, of the familiar-unfamiliar faces that watched with horror and shock and pain. He was vaguely aware of the dark-dressed man who danced his way towards him, all smiles and blood splattered gore. He was vaguely aware of the tears that dripped off his face and of the manicured nails that traced the tracks.

"Don't cry, sweet. Your father loves you. He's doing this for you."

Ianto only turned his head away when his sight was captured by the frenetic gaze of his father, leaning over him, face pressed close. Fondness and anger and world-burning dementia flared behind his father's eyes as the older time lord leaned in and pulled Ianto close. Fingers began to tap out a rhythm against his skin.

"Shouldn't have touched you," was the whispered words and Ianto fell into ice, into drums. "They shouldn't have treated you like their whore."

His father adjusted the settings on his screwdriver.

"Treating you like you were theirs," he hissed. "But you're not theirs. You're mine!"

The pulse of the drums was too strong to resist and he felt himself disconnect, and everything came to him in flashes of psychic sight.

Jack's body shuddering back to life, eyes once more on Ianto's, horror filling them at what they saw.

The family, the Jones's, led away but the girl managing one look back at him, eyes lingering.

The Doctor, old and withered but not diminished, reaching towards him with such sorrow that it encompassed the world.

Lucy filled with a blank loyalty for his father, only for his father.

And the madness in his father pricked at Ianto with a thousand sharp needles, and he screamed as they pierced.

"Shh, shh," his father crooned and placed the end of his laser screwdriver against his head. "Shh, baby boy, I'm here."

Pain. Bones shrinking and melting and reforming and Jack's screams joined his.

"Daddy's here."

The last thing Ianto saw was his father's smile.

"And I'm never letting you go."

And it was terrible.

* * *

Okay, despite how it looks, there is NOT incest here! The Master's just really possesive of his son. REALLY POSESSIVE.

I have planned it a certain way for Ianto that may be slightly cracky for my readers, so I apologize in advance. Next chapter hopefully soon. I'll try, I promise!


	20. YTNW Three

oh my gosh, can you believe it? It's been so long!

This year has been hell and my creativity has suffered so, so I hope that it keep with the same spirit. If not, I'm sorry!

I'm going to try to get back to Ianto next chapter, so be patient (and hugs to all those who have been so far).

I hope that it's good!!

* * *

**Year That Never Was: Three**

Martha Jones met Torchwood Three for the first time on a Tuesday.

She would remember the day forever, held close in her mind, coveted, when all seemed lost.

She had stumbled, fallen in the woods, body reaching the breaking point of little rest and little food, and she would have laid out there all night, dying of exposure, if not for them. All would have been lost if not for them.

She had been walking for what seemed like months but was only weeks, sleeping fitfully where she could, spending most of the time hiding from the Tolcafane and UNIT patrols. Her body was shaking, her feet were stained with old and fresh blood but still she moved. At first it had been not easy, but manageable, to use the perception filter when she could and steal rides, jumping from truck to trailer to car of the giving few, and soon she had reached Wales, reached Cardiff.

The Rift, the Doctor had told her, the Rift will boost the filter and give her more protection; Torchwood, Jack had said, find Torchwood. Find help, he had said.

But then the Master had locked down the country, and the patrols grew in number of men and monsters, and the people began to cave, to succumb. To give up. To lose hope. The Master tightened his fist and the world suffered. Cities burned, thousands more dead, and the world gave in.

Martha wanted to as well. It was the memory of her family on the Valiant that moved her. It was the thought of the Doctor, of Jack, that moved her. And she kept walking. Until she fell. Until darkness claimed her.

And woke to a small and well hidden village, barricaded in with impressive tech and weapons and contacts; they may have been three, Toshiko Sato and Gwen Cooper and Owen Harper, but they were armed and ready for war. Martha told them of the Master's plans, of what had happened both in the future and the past, and of the Archangel Network.

Owen had told her that Ianto, clever fucking alien teaboy, had fitted them up with traceless phones and other tech, and not just them, but their contacts as well. A PC Andy and DCI Kathy Swanson were still in Cardiff, had seen her, and had sent word which was how they had been able to find her. Torchwood Two, widely overlooked, had sent its agents to covertly track the Master's movements.

"_I need to tell the world about the Doctor," Martha had told them. "I need them to believe."_

"_How?" They had asked._

"_The Archangel Network controls our thoughts, fills them with the Master's agenda. He uses it to control us; I want to use it to set them free." _

"_From Ianto's warning, and previous Unit experiences, the Master may be brilliant but he does have weaknesses," Tosh had said. "The Doctor is one; the Master is fixated on him." And Ianto, was everyone's unspoken thought. "The second is that he thinks his enemy will react like he will, and he uses force knowing we don't have the power right now to stop him."_

_She turned to Owen, to Gwen, and then to Martha. _

"_But say we did." She smiled. _

"_A weapon," Martha said, realization dawning._

"_Our power lies with the Archangel Network, our weapon is the Doctor," Tosh said. "But we need time. How?"_

"_I would need a diversion until I could use him," Owen said. "I would need a red-herring."_

_Gwen stood, shaking her head. "Put word out that you're looking for a weapon that can stop the Master as a distraction, since what we need, what we have, is already in place."_

_Martha laughed. "That's brilliant!" _

_Tosh smiled secretly, closing the open journal she had had on her lap. _

"_Brilliant indeed," she said._

Martha wasn't sure what to make of Ianto Jones, administrator and archivist of Torchwood Three, son of the Master.

He was obviously clever, to have been able to set up the base for his team, to spirit them and their loved ones to safety, to prepare them for a silent war against the Master. But he had lied to them, hidden himself, and she wondered what side he would be on if it came to a fight, if he truly had to choose between Torchwood and his father; after all, all he had done was not in direct conflict with his father.

Martha kept her concerns to herself, as the others, despite his subterfuge, still considered him one of their own.

_Tosh pulled her aside the day before she left, giving her the well-loved journal._

"_This is Ianto's," she said. "I want you to take it."_

_Martha had protested, but Tosh had insisted._

"_This is important. I want you to give it to Jack when you see him, I want Jack to know," she faltered. _

"_I want Jack to know him. The real Ianto."_

_Tosh looked up, meeting Martha's gaze._

"_I want Jack to truly know the man he's in love with, and who loves him in return."_

Martha had found her hope and would spread it to the world, so that the name on everyone's lips was one, and that one would ring out to the skies when the time was right. The Doctor would be their hope, she would make sure of it.

After all, one day, she would have a message to deliver.

And so she kept walking.


	21. YTNW Four

Alright, here is the next chapter and it is for everyone that hung in there for me and with me, and totally nagged me until I got to it.

Thank you for it, and I hope that it was worth the wait!

* * *

**Year That Never Was: Four**

There were many things the Tish Jones found unbearable about her time on the Valiant.

Later, when all was done, she would look back and know that the servitude was the least of it. She had jobs like this before, worked for little gratitude and little reward, but not of her employers had been the same as Saxon. No, none had been the same as the _Master_. He was frighteningly intense, like a child prone to tantrums and torture. What he did to Jack Harkness was horrific, and whenever she slept she had nightmares of him standing over the fallen man, wielding his little toys and smiling, like a child pulling the wings off an insect.

Only this insect couldn't die, at least not permanently.

And there was a hate so personal in the Master's face that burned so cold.

But even then, in spite of daily humiliations, he wasn't the worst of it.

Tish was glad that she was rarely expected to look up, to raise her head; after all she was help and help did not look at their _betters_. She hated that it was becoming, not easy, but simple to think that way and not let her _angerfearhate _of Saxon shine through whenever she was in his company.

Poor Lucy wasn't even the worst of it, the poor blonde broken doll of a person that giggled and twittered at her husband, at the destruction and deaths she had helped unleash.

The Doctor wasn't the worst of it, old and bowed but not broken like Lucy, for whenever they managed to meet Tish saw the fire in him, such a stark contrast to the chill of Saxon. It wasn't even the murderous Tolcafane or the burning world beneath them or the fear the clutched at her heart whenever she thought of her sister.

No, these weren't the worst.

The worst was often placed in a soft and cushioned chair on the observation deck, facing out at the world below but turned so that all could see it and it could see all. The worst was often paraded around by Lucy, who cooed over it with a blank look that spoke more than any tears she could shed. The worst was cradled by Saxon, held close to him and nuzzled, while the Master looked out at the Doctor with victorious smiles that grew sharper with each emotion the Doctor could no longer conceal.

The worst of it all was Ianto Jones.

Reduced Ianto, once a young man now a child, helpless in the arms of the man claiming to be his father. Ianto who had screamed as his body shrunk as they had all watched, and Tish had had to turn away. Clutching her mother's hand, she couldn't press her face into the soft shoulder next to her but she could turn her eyes from the sight and she had. But the cries lingered as flesh and bone split and reshaped, as she could remember wondering why it hadn't hurt the Doctor as much, why if Saxon loved his son so much why he caused him such pain. After the small child lay there, eyes tearless but face so pale, limp as the large hands of his father had lifted him up.

No, Tish didn't like looking at Ianto Jones.

When Tish looked at Ianto she was struck by the sheer despair that dwelled in his eyes.

When Tish looked at him she shook with the knowledge that lingered behind them, the pain when the Master played with Jack, the desolation when the other members of the Torchwood institute were executed, the agony when countries burned. Whenever she looks at Ianto she remembers that moment on the bridge when Saxon (no, the Master) had gathered his son to him, when Ianto and his father locked eyes, when that light behind the ex-prime minister's eyes flared brighter than ever.

It was victory. It was glee. It was love.

And then the Master spoke.

"Now you've been returned to me," she remembers the Master saying softly, lovingly. "And I will never let you go again."


	22. YTNW Five

**The Year That Never Was: Five**

_It took a year. _

_The Master pursued Martha around the world, following traces of her but always one step behind. She was his target, always in his mind and sight, and he forgot that there were others that would move against him._

With Ianto's help the plan had worked. Martha walked while they worked behind the scenes. The tech he had left them kept them safe and hidden as they moved against the Master.

At times Owen unfavourably thought of them as pawns on a chessboard that Ianto had already moved into position before he left the game, leaving the remains of Torchwood Three to win the game on their own. He thought this on the days when Gwen or Tosh (or Gwen and Tosh) shivered through the dark nights with illness and tears.

Ianto may have protected them from discovery but he couldn't protect them from the elements, from disease, from their own human frailty. Gwen had been wounded, one small cut from a Tolcafane as they tried to move a group of refugees out of Cardiff, and it had become infected. Seeing the way they cut down people without discrimination made Owen worry, wondering just what was lurking on those little blades.

And, as he watched Gwen get sicker and sicker, he thought that maybe a quick death would have been better.

_But he never forgot, not totally, those who had worked with his so, those Torchwood people who were guilty of far greater crimes then standing against him. Harkness paid daily, hourly, with blood and burns and screams at first, and later with silence. But even as he slated his thirst for revenge with the freak the Master did not forget._

After Gwen died, buried shallowly in tilled earth, Tosh and Owen separated. Neither truly wanted to, both wanted to cling to what they had left, they knew that it was more dangerous to be together than to separate.

Tosh was smuggled out of the country, moving towards Japan, where a group of other tech geniuses were gathered with diagnostics of the Valiant, intel on the rocket sites, and plans were being made of how to bring them all down. It would have worked, the people brilliant and the ideas sound, and Tosh would go and bring the word of the Doctor to them. She arrived in Japan safely.

But the Master knew. The Master was waiting.

Saxon, in all his glory, flanked by an army of UNIT soldiers and Tolcafane had waltzed himself into their bunker. In all swaggering glory he waved an arm and his little friends cut down the scientists, shredded flesh and electronics until the room was blanketed in a red haze that was equally of iron and flame.

Tosh, untouched, stood in the middle of the massacre and faced the Master squarely.

_The Master's most prized possession was sitting in the chair when Japan was torched, it was whispered. Rumours were that for the first time in weeks the small face showed emotion; that for a moment there was a flinch that not even another viewing of Harkness's death could produce anymore. _

_When their Master returned to the Valiant, jaunty smile on his face and the scent of blood and smoke trailing him, that little face turned towards him. _

_When the larger knelt before the smaller, handing him a small cylinder object, metal and worn and still dripping with red, those little eyes welled with tears._

_When the elder leaned in and whispered, "I wish I could she died with dignity and honour, blah blah blah, but really no one is dignified when they're dying," a small sound escaped from the child._

_Those watching later whispered about the tears that ran down the elderly man's face as he observed it all._

Owen had stayed in Cardiff, hidden in the beacons at first, then later (after Gwen, after Tosh) he didn't care. He returned to the city. He returned to the Hub. Let them come, he thought. Let them come because he had nothing left.

Out of all of them Owen was the one who survived the longest. It wasn't for lack of trying. Death never seemed to come for him. Fucking irony.

It was there that he met Rhys Williams and Andy Davis.

Ianto had sequestered them, gave them instructions on how to get into the Hub (the same way he smuggled Lisa in) The Master had never come, after taking Ianto away. He hadn't needed a reason when all of Torchwood had fled. They needed a doctor, they told him, and while he may have laughed and cursed bitterly, it felt good to be needed again.

To be useful again.

It was from there that they aided Martha, helped her get back into Britain when the time came, when time was ticking down (soon, soon it would be finished one way or the other) and it was Owen that went to set the final pieces into place.

A fallen Tolcafane. A weapon finally ready. A spy with the right information.

_It took a year for all things to come together, for the word of the Doctor to gather strength and pass from person to person, to reach all edges of the earth. It took a year for Martha to spread her message, to leave and return home, and finally to face the Master. It took a year of agony and fear, or tears and despair, and finally of hope to end it._

_All that remembered that time thought of it as The Year That Never Was._


End file.
